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University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

From  the  Collection  of 
Joseph  Z.  Todd 

Gift  of 
Hatherly  B.  Todd 


ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 


Vol.  VII 


THE  MERRY  MEN  and  other 

TALES  AND  FABLES  Sfe  STRANGE 
CASE  OF  DR.  JEKYLL  AND 
MR.  HYDE       S       2^       t       t 


CopynVfAt..  /^f.^.ii/  6'/,,^  r/e.-iAm^t*-r.i:it^' 


*  THE  NOVELS  AND 
TALES  OF  ROBERT 
LOUIS   STEVENSON 


THE  MERRY  MEN 
AND     OTHER     TALES 

AND  FABLESXSTRANGE 

CASEOFDR.JEKYLL 
AND  Mr.  HYDE    %   t 


^PUBLISHED  IN 
NEW  YORK  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S 
SONS     %     «      1907     % 


My  Dear  Lady  Taylor: 
To  your  name,  if  I  wrote  on  brass,  I  could  add  nothing; 
it  has  been  already  written  higher  than  I  could  dream 
to  reach,  by  a  strong  and  a  dear  hand;  and  if  I  now 
dedicate  to  you  these  tales,  it  is  not  as  the  writer  who 
brings  you  his  work,  but  as  the  friend  who  would  re- 
mind you  of  his  affection. 

ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 
Skerryvore, 

Bournemouth 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE   MERRY  MEN 

AND   OTHER   TALES  AND  FABLES I 

STRANGE    CASE   OF  DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR. 
HYDE 279 


CONTENTS 

THE  MERRY   MEN 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

1       ElLEAN    ArOS I 

II     What  the  Wreck  had  brought  to  Aros lo 

Kl     Land  and  Sea  in  Sandag  Bay 26 

IV    The  Gale 39 

V  A  Man  out  of  the  Sea 53 

WILL  O'  THE   MILL 69 

MARKHEIM 104 

THRAWN  JANET 127 

OLALLA 142 

THE  TREASURE   OF   FRANCHARD 

I  By  the  Dying  Mountebank 199 

II  Morning  Talk 204 

III  The  Adoption 212 

IV  The  Education  of  a  Philosopher 222 

V  Treasure  Trove 234 

VI  A  Criminal  Investigation,  in  two  Parts 250 

VII     The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Desprez 263 

VIII    The  Wages  of  Philosophy 274 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

STRANGE  CASE  OF   DR.  JEKYLL  AND  MR.  HYDE 

Story  of  the  Door 281 

Search  for  Mr.  Hyde 290 

Dr.  Jekyll  was  quite  at  Ease 301 

The  Carew  Murder  Case 304 

Incident  of  the  Letter 310 

Remarkable  Incident  of  Dr.  Lanyon 316 

Incident  at  the  Window 322 

The  Last  Night 325 

Dr.  Lanyon's  Narrative 341 

Henry  Jekyll's  Full  Statement  of  the  Case 350 


THE  MERRY  MEN 


THE  MERRY  MEN 

CHAPTER  I 

EILEAN  AROS 

IT  was  a  beautiful  morning  in  the  late  July  when  I  set 
forth  on  foot  for  the  last  time  for  Aros.  A  boat  had 
put  me  ashore  the  night  before  at  Grisapol ;  I  had  such 
breakfast  as  the  little  inn  afforded,  and,  leaving  all  my 
baggage  till  1  had  an  occasion  to  come  round  for  it  by 
sea,  struck  right  across  the  promontory  with  a  cheerful 
heart. 

I  was  far  from  being  a  native  of  these  parts,  spring- 
ing, as  1  did,  from  an  unmixed  lowland  stock.  But  an 
uncle  of  mine,  Gordon  Darnaway,  after  a  poor,  rough 
youth,  and  some  years  at  sea,  had  married  a  young  wife 
in  the  islands;  Mary  Maclean  she  was  called,  the  last 
of  her  family;  and  when  she  died  in  giving  birth  to  a 
daughter,  Aros,  the  sea-girt  farm,  had  remained  in  his 
possession.  It  brought  him  in  nothing  but  the  means 
of  life,  as  I  was  well  aware;  but  he  was  a  man  whom 
ill-fortune  had  pursued ;  he  feared,  cumbered  as  he  was 
with  the  young  child,  to  make  a  fresh  adventure  upon 
life;  and  remained  in  Aros,  biting  his  nails  at  destiny. 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

Years  passed  over  his  head  in  that  isolation,  and  brought 
neither  help  nor  contentment.  Meantime  our  family 
was  dying  out  in  the  lowlands ;  there  is  little  luck  for 
any  of  that  race ;  and  perhaps  my  father  was  the  luck- 
iest of  all,  for  not  only  was  he  one  of  the  last  to  die,  but 
he  left  a  son  to  his  name  and  a  little  money  to  support 
it.  1  was  a  student  of  Edinburgh  University,  living  well 
enough  at  my  own  charges,  but  without  kith  or  kin; 
when  some  news  of  me  found  its  way  to  Uncle  Gordon 
on  the  Ross  of  Grisapol ;  and  he,  as  he  was  a  man  who 
held  blood  thicker  than  water,  wrote  to  me  the  day  he 
heard  of  my  existence,  and  taught  me  to  count  Aros  as 
my  home.  Thus  it  was  that  I  came  to  spend  my  vaca- 
tions in  that  part  of  the  country,  so  far  from  all  society 
and  comfort,  between  the  codfish  and  the  moorcocks ; 
and  thus  it  was  that  now,  when  I  had  done  with  my 
classes,  I  was  returning  thither  with  so  light  a  heart  that 
July  day. 

The  Ross,  as  we  call  it,  is  a  promontory  neither  wide 
nor  high,  but  as  rough  as  God  made  it  to  this  day ;  the 
deep  sea  on  either  hand  of  it,  full  of  rugged  isles  and 
reefs  most  perilous  to  seamen  —  all  overlooked  from  the 
eastward  by  some  very  high  cliffs  and  the  great  peak  of 
Ben  Kyaw.  The  Mountain  of  the  Mist,  they  say  the 
words  signify  in  the  Gaelic  tongue ;  and  it  is  well  named. 
For  that  hill-top,  which  is  more  than  three  thousand 
feet  in  height,  catches  all  the  clouds  that  come  blowing 
from  the  seaward;  and,  indeed,  I  used  often  to  think 
that  it  must  make  them  for  itself;  since  when  all  heaven 
was  clear  to  the  sea  level,  there  would  ever  be  a  streamer 
on  Ben  Kyaw.     It  brought  water,  too,  and  was  mossy  ^ 

1  Boggy. 


EILEAN   AROS 

to  the  top  in  consequence.  I  have  seen  us  sitting  in 
broad  sunshine  on  the  Ross,  and  the  rain  falling  black 
like  crape  upon  the  mountain.  But  the  wetness  of  it 
made  it  often  appear  more  beautiful  to  my  eyes;  for 
when  the  sun  struck  upon  the  hill  sides,  there  were 
many  wet  rocks  and  watercourses  that  shone  like  jewels 
even  as  far  as  Aros,  fifteen  miles  away. 

The  road  that  1  followed  was  a  cattle-track.  It 
twisted  so  as  nearly  to  double  the  length  of  my  jour- 
ney; it  went  over  rough  boulders  so  that  a  man  had 
to  leap  from  one  to  another,  and  through  soft  bottoms 
where  the  moss  came  nearly  to  the  knee.  There  was 
no  cultivation  anywhere,  and  not  one  house  in  the  ten 
miles  from  Grisapol  to  Aros.  Houses  of  course  there 
were  —  three  at  least ;  but  they  lay  so  far  on  the  one  side 
or  the  other  that  no  stranger  could  have  found  them 
from  the  track.  A  large  part  of  the  Ross  is  covered 
with  big  granite  rocks,  some  of  them  larger  than  a  two- 
roomed  house,  one  beside  another,  with  fern  and  deep 
heather  in  between  them  where  the  vipers  breed.  Any- 
way the  wind  was,  it  was  always  sea  air,  as  salt  as  on  a 
ship;  the  gulls  were  as  free  as  moorfowl  over  all  the 
Ross;  and  whenever  the  way  rose  a  little,  your  eye 
would  kindle  with  the  brightness  of  the  sea.  From  the 
very  midst  of  the  land,  on  a  day  of  wind  and  a  high 
spring,  1  have  heard  the  Roost  roaring  like  a  battle 
where  it  runs  by  Aros,  and  the  great  and  fearful  voices 
of  the  breakers  that  we  call  the  Merry  Men. 

Aros  itself — Aros  Jay,  I  have  heard  the  natives  call 
it,  and  they  say  it  means  the  Home  of  God  —  Aros  ftself 
was  not  properly  a  piece  of  the  Ross,  nor  was  it  quite 
an  islet.     It  formed  the  south-west  corner  of  the  land, 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

fitted  close  to  it,  and  was  in  one  place  only  separated 
from  the  coast  by  a  little  gut  of  the  sea,  not  forty  feet 
across  the  narrowest.  When  the  tide  was  full,  this  was 
clear  and  still,  like  a  pool  on  a  land  river ;  only  there  was 
a  difference  in  the  weeds  and  fishes,  and  the  water  itself 
was  green  instead  of  brown ;  but  when  the  tide  went 
out,  in  the  bottom  of  the  ebb,  there  was  a  day  or  two  in 
every  month  when  you  could  pass  dryshod  from  Aros 
to  the  mainland.  There  was  some  good  pasture,  where 
my  uncle  fed  the  sheep  he  lived  on ;  perhaps  the  feed 
was  better  because  the  ground  rose  higher  on  the  islet 
than  the  main  level  of  the  Ross,  but  this  1  am  not  skilled 
enough  to  settle.  The  house  was  a  good  one  for  that 
country,  two  storeys  high.  It  looked  westward  over  a 
bay,  with  a  pier  hard  by  for  a  boat,  and  from  the  door 
you  could  watch  the  vapours  blowing  on  Ben  Kyaw. 

On  all  this  part  of  the  coast,  and  especially  near  Aros, 
these  great  granite  rocks  that  1  have  spoken  of  go  down 
together  in  troops  into  the  sea,  like  cattle  on  a  summer's 
day.  There  they  stand,  for  all  the  world  like  their  neigh- 
bours ashore ;  only  the  salt  water  sobbing  between  them 
instead  of  the  quiet  earth,  and  clots  of  sea-pink  bloom- 
ing on  their  sides  instead  of  heather;  and  the  great  sea 
conger  to  wreathe  about  the  base  of  them  instead  of  the 
poisonous  viper  of  the  land.  On  calm  days  you  can  go 
wandering  between  them  in  a  boat  for  hours,  echoes 
following  you  about  the  labyrinth ;  but  when  the  sea  is 
up.  Heaven  help  the  man  that  hears  that  cauldron  boiling. 

Off  the  south-west  end  of  Aros  these  blocks  are  very 
many,  and  much  greater  in  size.  Indeed,  they  must 
grow  monstrously  bigger  out  to  sea,  for  there  must  be 
ten  sea  miles  of  open  water  sown  with  them  as  thick  as 

4 


EILEAN   AROS 

a  country  place  with  houses,  some  standing  thirty  feet 
above  the  tides,  some  covered,  but  all  perilous  to  ships; 
so  that  on  a  clear,  westerly  blowing  day,  1  have  counted, 
from  the  top  of  Aros,  the  great  rollers  breaking  white 
and  heavy  over  as  many  as  six-and-forty  buried  reefs. 
But  it  is  nearer  in  shore  that  the  danger  is  worst;  for 
the  tide,  here  running  like  a  mill  race,  makes  a  long 
belt  of  broken  water  —  a  Roost  we  call  it  —  at  the  tail  of 
the  land.  I  have  often  been  out  there  in  a  dead  calm  at 
the  slack  of  the  tide;  and  a  strange  place  it  is,  with  the 
sea  swirling  and  combing  up  and  boiling  like  the  caul- 
drons of  a  linn,  and  now  and  again  a  little  dancing  mut- 
ter of  sound  as  though  the  Roost  were  talking  to  itself. 
But  when  the  tide  begins  to  run  again,  and  above  all  in 
heavy  weather,  there  is  no  man  could  take  a  boat  within 
half  a  mile  of  it,  nor  a  ship  afloat  that  could  either  steer 
or  live  in  such  a  place.  You  can  hear  the  roaring  of  it 
six  miles  away.  At  the  seaward  end  there  comes  the 
strongest  of  the  bubble;  and  it's  here  that  these  big 
breakers  dance  together  —  the  dance  of  death,  it  may 
be  called  —  that  have  got  the  name,  in  these  parts,  of 
the  Merry  Men.  I  have  heard  it  said  that  they  run  fifty 
feet  high;  but  that  must  be  the  green  water  only,  for 
the  spray  runs  twice  as  high  as  that.  Whether  they 
got  the  name  from  their  movements,  which  are  swift 
and  antic,  or  from  the  shouting  they  make  about  the 
turn  of  the  tide,  so  that  all  Aros  shakes  with  it,  is  more 
than  I  can  tell. 

The  truth  is,  that  in  a  south-westerly  wind,  that  part 
of  our  archipelago  is  no  better  than  a  trap.  If  a  ship 
got  through  the  reefs,  and  weathered  the  Merry  Men,  it 
would  be  to  come  ashore  on  the  south  coast  of  Aros,  in 

5 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

Sandag  Bay,  where  so  many  dismal  things  befell  our 
family,  as  I  propose  to  tell.  The  thought  of  all  these 
dangers,  in  the  place  I  knew  so  long,  makes  me  par- 
ticularly welcome  the  works  now  going  forward  to  set 
lights  upon  the  headlands  and  buoys  along  the  channels 
of  our  iron-bound,  inhospitable  islands. 

The  country  people  had  many  a  story  about  Aros,  as 
I  used  to  hear  from  my  uncle's  man,  Rorie,  an  old  ser- 
vant of  the  Macleans,  who  had  transferred  his  services 
without  afterthought  on  the  occasion  of  the  marriage. 
There  was  some  tale  of  an  unlucky  creature,  a  sea-kelpie, 
that  dwelt  and  did  business  in  some  fearful  manner  of 
his  own  among  the  boiling  breakers  of  the  Roost.  A 
mermaid  had  once  met  a  piper  on  Sandag  beach,  and 
there  sang  to  him  a  long,  bright  midsummer's  night,  so 
that  in  the  morning  he  was  found  stricken  crazy,  and 
from  thenceforward,  till  the  day  he  died,  said  only  one 
form  of  words ;  what  they  were  in  the  original  Gaelic 
I  cannot  tell,  but  they  were  thus  translated:  **  Ah,  the 
sweet  singing  out  of  the  sea."  Seals  that  haunted  on 
that  coast  have  been  known  to  speak  to  man  in  his 
own  tongue,  presaging  great  disasters.  It  was  here 
that  a  certain  saint  first  landed  on  his  voyage  out  of 
Ireland  to  convert  the  Hebrideans.  And,  indeed,  I  think 
he  had  some  claim  to  be  called  saint ;  for,  with  the  boats 
of  that  past  age,  to  make  so  rough  a  passage,  and  land 
on  such  a  ticklish  coast,  was  surely  not  far  short  of 
the  miraculous.  It  was  to  him,  or  to  some  of  his  monk- 
ish underlings  who  had  a  cell  there,  that  the  islet  owes 
its  holy  and  beautiful  name,  the  House  of  God. 

Among  these  old  wives'  stories  there  was  one  which 
1  was  inclined  to  hear  with  more  credulity.     As  I  was 

6 


EILEAN   AROS 

told,  in  that  tempest  which  scattered  the  ships  of  the 
Invincible  Armada  over  all  the  north  and  west  of  Scot- 
land, one  great  vessel  came  ashore  on  Aros,  and  before 
the  eyes  of  some  solitary  people  on  a  hill-top,  went 
down  in  a  moment  with  all  hands,  her  colours  flying 
even  as  she  sank.  There  was  some  likelihood  in  this 
tale ;  for  another  of  that  fleet  lay  sunk  on  the  north  side, 
twenty  miles  from  Grisapol.  It  was  told,  I  thought,  with 
more  detail  and  gravity  than  its  companion  stories,  and 
there  was  one  particularity  which  went  far  to  convince 
me  of  its  truth :  the  name,  that  is,  of  the  ship  was  still 
remembered,  and  sounded,  in  my  ears  Spanishly.  The 
Espirito  Santo  they  called  it,  a  great  ship  of  many  decks 
of  guns,  laden  with  treasure  and  grandees  of  Spain,  and 
fierce  soldadoes,  that  now  lay  fathom  deep  to  all  eternity, 
done  with  her  wars  and  voyages,  in  Sandag  bay,  upon 
the  west  of  Aros.  No  more  salvos  of  ordnance  for  that 
tall  ship,  the  "  Holy  Spirit,"  no  more  fair  winds  or  happy 
ventures ;  only  to  rot  there  deep  in  the  sea-tangle  and 
hear  the  shoutings  of  the  Merry  Men  as  the  tide  ran 
high  about  the  island.  It  was  a  strange  thought  to  me 
first  and  last,  and  only  grew  stranger  as  I  learned  the 
more  of  the  way  in  which  she  had  set  sail  with  so  proud 
a  company,  and  King  Philip,  the  wealthy  king,  that  sent 
her  on  that  voyage. 

And  now  I  must  tell  you,  as  I  walked  from  Grisapol 
that  day,  the  Espirito  Santo  was  very  much  in  my  re- 
flections. I  had  been  favourably  remarked  by  our  then 
Principal  in  Edinburgh  College,  that  famous  writer,  Dr. 
Robertson,  and  by  him  had  been  set  to  work  on  some 
papers  of  an  ancient  date  to  rearrange  and  sift  of  what 
was  worthless ;  and  in  one  of  these,  to  my  great  won- 

7 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

der,  I  found  a  note  of  this  very  ship,  the  Espirito  Santo, 
with  her  captain's  name,  and  how  she  carried  a  great 
part  of  the  Spaniard's  treasure,  and  had  been  lost  upon 
the  Ross  of  Grisapol;  but  in  what  particular  spot,  the 
wild  tribes  of  that  place  and  period  would  gxwt  no  in- 
formation to  the  king's  inquiries.  Putting  one  thing 
with  another,  and  taking  our  island  tradition  together 
with  this  note  of  old  King  Jamie's  perquisitions  after 
wealth,  it  had  come  strongly  on  my  mind  that  the  spot 
for  which  he  sought  in  vain  could  be  no  other  than  the 
small  bay  of  Sandag  on  my  uncle's  land;  and  being  a 
fellow  of  a  mechanical  turn,  I  had  ever  since  been  plot- 
ting how  to  weigh  that  good  ship  up  again  with  all  her 
ingots,  ounces,  and  doubloons,  and  bring  back  our  house 
of  Darnaway  to  its  long-forgotten  dignity  and  wealth. 

This  was  a  design  of  which  I  soon  had  reason  to  re- 
pent. My  mind  was  sharply  turned  on  different  reflec- 
tions; and  since  I  became  the  witness  of  a  strange 
judgment  of  God's,  the  thought  of  dead  men's  treasures 
has  been  intolerable  to  my  conscience.  But  even  at  that 
time  I  must  acquit  myself  of  sordid  greed ;  for  if  1  de- 
sired riches,  it  was  not  for  their  own  sake,  but  for  the 
sake  of  a  person  who  was  dear  to  my  heart  —  my  uncle's 
daughter,  Mary  Ellen.  She  had  been  educated  well, 
and  had  been  a  time  to  school  upon  the  mainland; 
which,  poor  girl,  she  would  have  been  happier  without. 
For  Aros  was  no  place  for  her,  with  old  Rorie  the  ser- 
vant, and  her  father,  who  was  one  of  the  unhappiest 
men  in  Scotland,  plainly  bred  up  in  a  country  place 
among  Cameronians,  long  a  skipper  sailing  out  of  the 
Clyde  about  the  islands,  and  now,  with  infinite  dis- 
content, managing  his  sheep  and  a  little  'long  shore 

8 


EILEAN   AROS 

fishing  for  the  necessary  bread.  If  it  was  sometimes 
weariful  to  me,  who  was  there  but  a  month  or  two,  you 
may  fancy  what  it  was  to  her  who  dwelt  in  that  same 
desert  all  the  year  round,  with  the  sheep  and  flying  sea- 
gulls, and  the  Merry  Men  singing  and  dancing  in  the 
Roost! 


CHAPTER  II 

WHAT  THE  WRECK   HAD   BROUGHT  TO  AROS 

It  was  half-flood  when  1  got  the  length  of  Aros ;  and 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  stand  on  the  far  shore 
and  whistle  for  Rorie  with  the  boat.  I  had  no  need  to 
repeat  the  signal.  At  the  first  sound,  Mary  was  at  the 
door  flying  a  handkerchief  by  way  of  answer,  and  the 
old  long-legged  serving-man  was  shambling  down  the 
gravel  to  the  pier.  For  all  his  hurry,  it  took  him  a  long 
while  to  pull  across  the  bay ;  and  I  observed  him  sev- 
eral times  to  pause,  go  into  the  stern,  and  look  over 
curiously  into  the  wake.  As  he  came  nearer,  he  seemed 
to  me  aged  and  haggard,  and  I  thought  he  avoided  my 
eye.  The  coble  had  been  repaired,  with  two  new 
thwarts  and  several  patches  of  some  rare  and  beautiful 
foreign  wood,  the  name  of  it  unknown  to  me. 

*'Why,  Rorie,"  said  I,  as  we  began  the  return  voy- 
age, ''this  is  fine  wood.     How  came  you  by  that ? " 

"It  will  be  hard  to  cheesel,"  Rorie  opined  reluctantly; 
and  just  then,  dropping  the  oars,  he  made  another  of 
those  dives  into  the  stern  which  I  had  remarked  as  he 
came  across  to  fetch  me,  and,  leaning  his  hand  on  my 
shoulder,  stared  with  an  awful  look  into  the  waters  of 
the  bay. 

**  What  is  wrong?"  I  asked,  a  good  deal  startled. 

10 


WHAT   THE   WRECK   HAD   BROUGHT   TO   AROS 

"It  will  be  a  great  feesh,"  said  the  old  man,  return- 
ing to  his  oars;  and  nothing  more  could  I  get  out  of 
him,  but  strange  glances  and  an  ominous  nodding  of  the 
head.  In  spite  of  myself,  I  was  infected  with  a  mea- 
sure of  uneasiness ;  I  turned  also,  and  studied  the  wake. 
The  water  was  still  and  transparent,  but,  out  here  in 
the  middle  of  the  bay,  exceeding  deep.  For  some  time 
I  could  see  naught ;  but  at  last  it  did  seem  to  me  as  if 
something  dark  —  a  great  fish,  or  perhaps  only  a  shadow 
—  followed  studiously  in  the  track  of  the  moving  coble. 
And  then  I  remembered  one  of  Rorie's  superstitions: 
how  in  a  ferry  in  Morven,  in  some  great,  exterminating 
feud  among  the  clans,  a  fish,  the  like  of  it  unknown  in 
all  our  waters,  followed  for  some  years  the  passage  of 
the  ferry-boat,  until  no  man  dared  to  make  the  crossing. 

"He  will  be  waiting  for  the  right  man,"  said  Rorie. 

Mary  met  me  on  the  beach,  and  led  me  up  the  brae 
and  into  the  house  of  Aros.  Outside  and  inside  there 
were  many  changes.  The  garden  was  fenced  with  the 
same  wood  that  I  had  noted  in  the  boat;  there  were 
chairs  in  the  kitchen  covered  with  strange  brocade; 
curtains  of  brocade  hung  from  the  window;  a  clock 
stood  silent  on  the  dresser;  a  lamp  of  brass  was  swing- 
ing from  the  roof;  the  table  was  set  for  dinner  with  the 
finest  of  linen  and  silver;  and  all  these  new  riches  were 
displayed  in  the  plain  old  kitchen  that  I  knew  so  well, 
with  the  high-backed  settle,  and  the  stools,  and  the 
closet-bed  for  Rorie;  with  the  wide  chimney  the  sun 
shone  into,  and  the  clear-smouldering  peats;  with  the 
pipes  on  the  mantelshelf  and  the  three-cornered  spit- 
toons, filled  with  sea-shells  instead  of  sand,  on  the 
floor;  with  the  bare  stone  walls  and  the  bare  wooden 

II 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

floor,  and  the  three  patchwork  rugs  that  were  of  yore 
its  sole  adornment  —  poor  man's  patchwork,  the  like  of 
it  unknown  in  cities,  woven  with  homespun,  and  Sun- 
day black,  and  sea-cloth  polished  on  the  bench  of  row- 
ing. The  room,  like  the  house,  had  been  a  sort  of 
wonder  in  that  country-side,  it  was  so  neat  and  habit- 
able ;  and  to  see  it  now,  shamed  by  these  incongruous 
additions,  filled  me  with  indignation  and  a  kind  of 
anger.  In  view  of  the  errand  I  had  come  upon  to  Aros, 
the  feeling  was  baseless  and  unjust;  but  it  burned  high, 
at  the  first  moment,  in  my  heart. 

"Mary,  girl,"  said  I,  ''this  is  the  place  I  had  learned 
to  call  my  home,  and  I  do  not  know  it." 

"It  is  my  home  by  nature,  not  by  the  learning,"  she 
replied;  "the  place  1  was  born  and  the  place  I'm  like 
to  die  in ;  and  I  neither  like  these  changes,  nor  the  way 
they  came,  nor  that  which  came  with  them.  I  would 
have  liked  better,  under  God's  pleasure,  they  had  gone 
down  into  the  sea,  and  the  Merry  Men  were  dancing 
on  them  now." 

Mary  was  always  serious;  it  was  perhaps  the  only 
trait  that  she  shared  with  her  father;  but  the  tone  with 
which  she  uttered  these  words  was  even  graver  than 
of  custom. 

"Ay,"  said  I,  "I  feared  it  came  by  wreck,  and  that's 
by  death ;  yet  when  my  father  died,  I  took  his  goods 
without  remorse." 

"Your  father  died  a  clean  strae  death,  as  the  folk 
say,"  said  Mary. 

"True,"  I  returned;  "and  a  wreck  is  like  a  judg- 
ment.    What  was  she  called  ?" 

"They  ca'd  her  the  Christ- Anna,"  said  a  voice  be- 


WHAT   THE   WRECK   HAD   BROUGHT  TO   AROS 

hind  me;  and,  turning  round,  I  saw  my  uncle  standing 
in  the  doorway. 

He  was  a  sour,  small,  bilious  man,  with  a  long  face 
and  very  dark  eyes;  fifty-six  years  old,  sound  and  ac- 
tive in  body,  and  with  an  air  somewhat  between  that 
of  a  shepherd  and  that  of  a  man  following  the  sea.  He 
never  laughed,  that  I  heard;  read  long  at  the  Bible; 
prayed  much,  like  the  Cameronians  he  had  been 
brought  up  among;  and  indeed,  in  many  ways,  used 
to  remind  me  of  one  of  the  hill-preachers  in  the  killing 
times  before  the  Revolution.  But  he  never  got  much 
comfort,  nor  even,  as  I  used  to  think,  much  guidance, 
by  his  piety.  He  had  his  black  fits  when  he  was  afraid  of 
hell;  but  he  had  led  a  rough  life,  to  which  he  would  look 
back  with  envy,  and  was  still  a  rough,  cold,  gloomy  man. 

As  he  came  in  at  the  door  out  of  the  sunlight,  with 
his  bonnet  on  his  head  and  a  pipe  hanging  in  his  button- 
hole, he  seemed,  like  Rorie,  to  have  grown  older  and 
paler,  the  lines  were  deeplier  ploughed  upon  his  face, 
and  the  whites  of  his  eyes  were  yellow,  like  old  stained 
ivory,  or  the  bones  of  the  dead. 

"Ay,"  he  repeated,  dwelling  upon  the  first  part  of 
the  word,  **the  Christ-Anna.     It's  an  awfu'  name." 

I  made  him  my  salutations,  and  complimented  him  upon 
his  look  of  health ;  for  I  feared  he  had  perhaps  been  ill. 

'M'm  in  the  body,"  he  replied,  ungraciously  enough; 
"aye  in  the  body  and  the  sins  of  the  body,  like  your- 
sel'.  Denner,"  he  said  abruptly  to  Mary,  and  then  ran 
on  to  me:  "They're  grand  braws.  thir  that  we  hae 
gotten,  are  they  no.?  Yon's  a  bonny  knock, ^  but  it'll 
no  gang;  and  the  napery's  by  ordnar.  Bonny,  bairnly 
1  Clock. 


THE  MERRY   MEN 

braws ;  it's  for  the  like  o'  them  folk  sells  the  peace  of 
God  that  passeth  understanding;  it's  for  the  like  o' 
them,  an'  maybe  no  even  sae  muckle  worth,  folk 
daunton  God  to  His  face  and  burn  in  muckle  hell; 
and  it's  for  that  reason  the  Scripture  ca's  them,  as  I 
read  the  passage,  the  accursed  thing.  Mary,  ye  girzie, " 
he  interrupted  himself  to  cry  with  some  asperity, 
''what  for  hae  ye  no  put  out  the  twa  candlesticks?" 

"Why  should  we  need  them  at  high  noon?"  she 
asked. 

But  my  uncle  was  not  to  be  turned  from  his  idea. 
**  We'll  bruik^  them  while  we  may,"  he  said;  and  so 
two  massive  candlesticks  of  wrought  silver  were  added 
to  the  table  equipage,  already  so  unsuited  to  that  rough 
sea-side  farm. 

"She  cam'  ashore  Februar'  lo,  about  ten  at  nicht,"  he 
went  on  to  me.  "There  was  nae  wind,  and  a  sair  run 
o'  sea;  and  she  was  in  the  sook  o'  the  Roost,  as  I  ja- 
loose.  We  had  seen  her  a'  day,  Rorie  and  me,  beating 
to  the  wind.  She  wasnae  a  handy  craft,  I'm  thinking, 
that  Christ' Anna  ;  for  she  would  neither  steer  nor  stey 
wi'  them.  A  sair  day  they  had  of  it;  their  hands  was 
never  aff  the  sheets,  and  it  perishin'  cauld  —  ower  cauld 
to  snaw ;  and  aye  they  would  get  a  bit  nip  o'  wind,  and 
awa'  again,  to  pit  the  emp'y  hope  into  them.  Eh,  man ! 
but  they  had  a  sair  day  for  the  last  o't !  He  would  have 
had  a  prood,  prood  heart  that  won  ashore  upon  the  back 
o'  that." 

"  And  were  all  lost  ? "  I  cried.^    "God  help  them ! " 

"  Wheesht!  "  he  said  sternly.  "Nane  shall  pray  for 
the  deid  on  my  hearth-stane. " 

1  Enjoy. 
14 


WHAT  THE  WRECK   HAD   BROUGHT  TO   AROS 

I  disclaimed  a  Popish  sense  for  my  ejaculation ;  and 
he  seemed  to  accept  my  disclaimer  with  unusual  facility, 
and  ran  on  once  more  upon  what  had  evidently  become 
a  favorite  subject. 

"We  fand  her  in  Sandag  Bay,  Rorie  an'  me,  and  a' 
thae  braws  in  the  inside  of  her.  There's  a  kittle  bit,  ye 
see,  about  Sandag;  whiles  the  sook  rins  strong  for  the 
Merry  Men;  an'  whiles  again,  when  the  tide's  makin' 
hard  an*  ye  can  hear  the  Roost  blawin'  at  the  far-end  of 
Aros,  there  comes  a  back-spang  of  current  straucht  into 
Sandag  Bay.  Weel,  there's  the  thing  that  got  the  grip 
on  the  Christ-Anna.  She  but  to  have  come  in  ram- 
stam  an'  stern  forrit ;  for  the  bows  of  her  are  aften  under, 
and  thfe  back-side  of  her  is  clear  at  hie-water  o'  neaps. 
But,  man !  the  dunt  that  she  cam  doon  wi'  when  she 
struck !  Lord  save  us  a' !  but  it's  an  unco  life  to  be  a 
sailor  —  a  cauld,  wanchancy  life.  Mony's  the  gliff  1  got 
mysel'  in  the  great  deep ;  and  why  the  Lord  should  hae 
made  yon  unco  water  is  mair  than  ever  I  could  win  to 
understand.  He  made  the  vales  and  the  pastures,  the 
bonny  green  yaird,  the  halesome,  canty  land  — 

And  now  they  shout  and  sing  to  Thee, 
For  Thou  hast  made  them  glad, 

as  the  Psalms  say  in  the  metrical  version.  No  that  I 
would  preen  my  faith  to  that  clink  neither;  but  it's 
bonny,  and  easier  to  mind.  "Who  go  to  sea  in  ships,** 
they  hae't  again  — 

And  in 
Great  waters  trading  be, 
Within  the  deep  these  men  God's  works 
And  His  great  wonders  see. 
15 


THE  MERRY  MEN 

Weel,  it's  easy  sayin'  sae.  Maybe  Dauvit  wasnae  very 
weel  acquant  wi'  the  sea.  But  troth,  if  it  wasnae  pren- 
tit  in  the  Bible,  I  wad  whiles  be  temp'it  to  think  it  was- 
nae the  Lord,  but  the  muckle,  black  deil  that  made  the 
sea.  There's  naething  good  comes  oot  o't  but  the  fish ; 
an'  the  spentacle  o'  God  riding  on  the  tempest,  to  be 
shure,  whilk  would  be  what  Dauvit  was  likely  ettling  at. 
But,  man,  they  were  sair  wonders  that  God  showed  to  the 
Christ- Anna  —  wonders,  do  I  ca'  them  }  Judgments, 
rather:  judgments  in  the  mirk  nicht  among  the  dray- 
gons  o'  the  deep.  And  their  souls — to  think  o'  that  — 
their  souls,  man,  maybe  no  prepared!  The  sea  —  a 
muckle  yett  to  hell!" 

I  observed,  as  my  uncle  spoke,  that  his  voice  was  un- 
naturally moved  and  his  manner  unwontedly  demonstra- 
tive. He  leaned  forward  at  these  last  words, for  example, 
and  touched  me  on  the  knee  with  his  spread  fingers, 
looking  up  into  my  face  with  a  certain  pallor,  and  I  could 
see  that  his  eyes  shone  with  a  deep-seated  fire,  and  that 
the  lines  about  his  mouth  were  drawn  and  tremulous. 

Even  the  entrance  of  Rorie,  and  the  beginning  of  our 
meal,  did  not  detach  him  from  his  train  of  thought  be- 
yond a  moment.  He  condescended,  indeed,  to  ask  me 
some  questions  as  to  my  success  at  college,  but  I  thought 
it  was  with  half  his  mind ;  and  even  in  his  extempore 
grace,  which  was,  as  usual,  long  and  wandering,  \ 
could  find  the  trace  of  his  preoccupation,  praying,  as 
he  did,  that  God  would  *' remember  in  mercy  fower 
puir,  feckless,  fiddling,  sinful  creatures  here  by  their 
lee-lane  beside  the  great  and  dowie  waters." 

Soon  there  came  an  interchange  of  speeches  between 
him  and  Rorie. 

i6 


WHAT   THE   WRECK    HAD    BROUGHT   TO   AROS 

"Was  it  there?"  asked  my  uncle. 

"Ou,  ay!"  said  Rorie. 

I  observed  that  they  both  spoke  in  a  manner  of  aside, 
and  with  some  show  of  embarrassment,  and  that  Mary 
herself  appeared  to  colour,  and  looked  down  on  her 
plate.  Partly  to  show  my  knowledge,  and  so  relieve 
the  party  from  an  awkward  strain,  partly  because  I  was 
curious,  I  pursued  the  subject. 

"You  mean  the  fish?"  1  asked. 

"Whatten  fish?"  cried  my  uncle.  "Fish,  quo'  he! 
Fish!  Your  een  are  fu'  o'  fatness,  man;  your  heid 
dozened  wi'  carnal  leir.     Fish!  it's  a  bogle!" 

He  spoke  with  great  vehemence,  as  though  angry ;  and 
perhaps  1  was  not  very  willing  to  be  put  down  so  shortly, 
for  young  men  are  disputatious.  At  least  1  remember  1 
retorted  hotly,  crying  out  upon  childish  superstitions. 

"And  ye  come  frae  the  College!"  sneered  Uncle 
Gordon.  "Gude  kens  what  they  learn  folk  there;  it's 
no  muckle  service  onyway.  Do  ye  think,  man,  that 
there's  naething  in  a'  yon  saut  wilderness  o'  a  world 
oot  wast  there,  wi'  the  sea  grasses  growin',  an'  the  sea 
beasts  fechtin',  an'  the  sun  glintin'  down  into  it,  day 
by  day  ?  Na ;  the  sea's  like  the  land,  but  fearsomer.  If 
there's  folk  ashore,  there's  folk  in  the  sea  —  deid  they 
may  be,  but  they're  folk  whatever;  and  as  for  deils, 
there's  nane  that's  like  the  sea  deJIs.  There's  no  sae 
muckle  harm  in  the  land  deils,  when  a's  said  and  done. 
Lang  syne,  when  I  was  a  callant  in  the  south  country, 
I  mind  there  was  an  auld,  bald  bogle  in  the  Peewie 
Moss.  I  got  a  glisk  o'  him  mysel',  sittin'  on  his  hunk- 
ers in  a  hag,  as  gray's  a  tombstane.  An',  troth,  he  was 
a  fearsome-like  taed.     But  he  steered  naebody.     Nae 

»7 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

doobt,  if  ane  that  was  a  reprobate,  ane  the  Lord  hated, 
had  gane  by  there  wi'  his  sin  still  upon  his  stamach, 
nae  doobt  the  creature  would  hae  lowped  upo'  the  likes 
o'  him.  But  there's  deils  in  the  deep  sea  would  yoke 
on  a  communicant!  Eh,  sirs,  if  ye  had  gane  doon  wi' 
the  puir  lads  in  the  Christ- Anna,  ye  would  ken  by  now 
the  mercy  o'  the  seas.  If  ye  had  sailed  it  for  as  lang  as 
me,  ye  would  hate  the  thocht  of  it  as  I  do.  If  ye  had 
but  used  the  een  God  gave  ye,  ye  would  hae  learned  the 
wickedness  o'  that  fause,  saut,  cauld,  bullering  creature, 
and  of  a'  that's  in  it  by  the  Lord's  permission :  labsters 
an'  partans,  an'  sic  like,  howking  in  the  deid;  muckle, 
gutsy,  blawing  whales;  an'  fish  —  the  hale  clan  o'  them 
—  cauld- wamed,  blind-eed  uncanny  ferlies.  O,  sirs, "  he 
cried,  "the  horror —  the  horror  o'  the  sea!  " 

We  were  all  somewhat  staggered  by  this  outburst; 
and  the  speaker  himself,  after  that  last  hoarse  apostrophe, 
appeared  to  sink  gloomily  into  his  own  thoughts.  But 
Rorie,  who  was  greedy  of  superstitious  lore,  recalled 
him  to  the  subject  by  a  question. 

'*  You  will  not  ever  have  seen  a  teevil  of  the  sea.?"  he 
asked. 

"No  clearly,"  replied  the  other,  "I  misdoobt  if  a  mere 
man  could  see  ane  clearly  and  conteenue  in  the  body. 
I  hae  sailed  wi'  a  lad — they  ca'd  him  Sandy  Gabart;  he 
saw  ane,  shure  eneuch,  an'  shiire  eneuch  it  was  the  end 
of  him.  We  were  seeven  days  oot  frae  the  Clyde  —  a 
sair  wark  we  had  had  —  gaun  north  wi'  seeds  an'  braws 
an'  things  for  the  Macleod.  We  had  got  in  ower  near 
under  the  Cutchull'ns,  an'  had  just  gane  about  by  Soa, 
an'  were  off  on  a  lang  tack,  we  thocht  would  maybe 
hauld  as  far's  Copnahow.     I  mind  the  nicht  weel;  a 

i8 


WHAT  THE  WRECK   HAD   BROUGHT  TO   AROS 

mune  smoored  wi'  mist;  a  fine  gaun  breeze  upon  the 
water,  but  no  steedy ;  an'  —  what  nane  o'  us  likit  to  hear 
—  anither  wund  gurlin'  owerheid,  amang  thae  fearsome, 
auld  stane  craigs  o'  the  Cutchull'ns.  Weel,  Sandy  was 
forrit  wi'  the  jib  sheet;  we  couldnae  see  him  for  the 
mains'l,  that  had  just  begude  to  draw,  when  a'  at  ance 
he  gied  a  skirl.  I  luffed  for  my  life,  for  I  thocht  we 
were  ower  near  Soa;  but  na,  it  wasnae  that,  it  was  puir 
Sandy  Gabart's  deid  skreigh,  or  near  hand,  for  he  was 
deid  in  half  an  hour.  A't  he  could  tell  was  that  a  sea 
deil,  or  sea  bogle,  or  sea  spenster,  or  sic-like,  had 
clum  up  by  the  bowsprit,  an'  gi'en  him  ae  cauld,  un- 
canny look.  An',  or  the  life  was  oot  o'  Sandy's  body, 
we  kent  weel  what  the  thing  betokened,  and  why  the 
wund  gurled  in  the  taps  o'  the  CutchuH'ns;  for  doon  it 
cam' — a  wund  do  1  ca'  it!  it  was  the  wund  o'  the  Lord's 
anger — an'  a'  that  nicht  we  foucht  like  men  dementit, 
and  the  niest  that  we  kenned  we  were  ashore  in  Loch 
Uskevagh,  an'  the  cocks  were  crawing  in  Benbecula." 

"It  will  have  been  a  merman,"  Rorie  said. 

"A  merman!"  screamed  my  uncle  with  immeasur- 
able scorn.  "Auld  wives'  clavers!  There's  nae  sic 
things  as  mermen." 

"  But  what  was  the  creature  like  ?  "  I  asked. 

"What  like  was  it?  Gude  forbid  that  we  suld  ken 
what  like  it  was!  It  had  a  kind  of  a  heid  upon  it — • 
man  could  say  nae  main" 

Then  Rorie,  smarting  under  the  affront,  told  several 
tales  of  mermen,  mermaids,  and  sea-horses  that  had 
come  ashore  upon  the  islands  and  attacked  the  crews 
of  boats  upon  the  sea ;  and  my  uncle,  in  spite  of  his  in- 
credulity, listened  with  uneasy  interest. 

19 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

''Aweel,  aweel,"  he  said,  "it  may  be  sae;  I  may  be 
wrang;  but  I  find  nae  word  o'  mermen  in  the  Scrip- 
tures." 

"  And  you  will  find  nae  word  of  Aros  Roost,  maybe," 
objected  Rorie,  and  his  argument  appeared  to  carry 
weight. 

When  dinner  was  over,  my  uncle  carried  me  forth 
with  him  to  a  bank  behind  the  house.  It  was  a  very 
hot  and  quiet  afternoon ;  scarce  a  ripple  anywhere  upon 
the  sea,  nor  any  voice  but  the  familiar  voice  of  sheep  and 
gulls;  and  perhaps  in  consequence  of  this  repose  in  na- 
ture, my  kinsman  showed  himself  more  rational  and 
tranquil  than  before.  He  spoke  evenly  and  almost  cheer- 
fully of  my  career,  with  every  now  and  then  a  reference 
to  the  lost  ship  or  the  treasures  it  had  brought  to  Aros. 
For  my  part,  1  listened  to  him  in  a  sort  of  trance,  gazing 
with  all  my  heart  on  that  remembered  scene,  and  drink- 
ing gladly  the  sea-air  and  the  smoke  of  peats  that  had 
been  lit  by  Mary. 

Perhaps  an  hour  had  passed  when  my  uncle,  who  had 
all  the  while  been  covertly  gazing  on  the  surface  of  the 
little  bay,  rose  to  his  feet  and  bade  me  follow  his  ex- 
ample. Now  I  should  say  that  the  great  run  of  tide  at 
the  south-west  end  of  Aros  exercises  a  perturbing  influ- 
ence round  all  the  coast.  In  Sandag  Bay,  to  the  south, 
a  strong  current  runs  at  certain  periods  of  the  flood  and 
ebb  respectively ;  but  in  this  northern  bay  —  Aros  Bay, 
as  it  is  called  —  where  the  house  stands  and  on  which 
my  uncle  was  now  gazing,  the  only  sign  of  disturbance 
is  towards  the  end  of  the  ebb,  and  even  then  it  is  too 
slight  to  be  remarkable.  When  there  is  any  swell, 
nothing  can  be  seen  at  all;  but  when  it  is  calm,  as  it 


WHAT   THE   WRECK    HAD    BROUGHT   TO    AROS 

often  is,  there  appear  certain  strange,  undecipherable 
marks  —  sea-runes,  as  we  may  name  them  —  on  the 
glassy  surface  of  the  bay.  The  like  is  common  in  a 
thousand  places  on  the  coast;  and  many  a  boy  must 
have  amused  himself  as  1  did,  seeking  to  read  in  them 
some  reference  to  himself  or  those  he  loved.  It  was  to 
these  marks  that  my  uncle  now  directed  my  attention, 
struggling  as  he  did  so,  with  an  evident  reluctance. 

"  Do  ye  see  yon  scart  upo'  the  water  ?  "  he  inquired ; 
"yon  ane  wast  the  gray  stane ?  Ay  ?  Weel,  it'll  no  be 
like  a  letter,  wull  it?" 

"  Certainly  it  is,"  I  replied.  "I  have  often  remarked 
it.     It  is  like  a  C." 

He  heaved  a  sigh  as  if  heavily  disappointed  with  my 
answer,  and  then  added  below  his  breath :  '*  Ay,  for  the 
Christ-Anna. 

**I  used  to  suppose,  sir,  it  was  for  myself,"  said  I; 
"for  my  name  is  Charles." 

"And  so  ye  saw't  afore  ?"  he  ran  on,  not  heeding  my 
remark.  "  Weel,  weel,  but  that's  unco  strange.  Maybe, 
it's  been  there  waitin',  as  a  man  wad  say,  through  a'  the 
weary  ages.  Man,  but  that's  awfu'."  And  then,  break- 
ing off:  "  Ye'll  no  see  anither,  will  ye.^"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  I.  "I  see  another  very  plainly,  near  the 
Ross  side,  where  the  road  comes  down  —  an  M." 

"An  M,"  he  repeated  very  low;  and  then,  again 
after  another  pause :  "  An'  what  wad  ye  make  o'  that  ?  " 
he  inquired. 

"I  had  always  thought  it  to  mean  Mary,  sir,"  I  an- 
swered, growing  somewhat  red,  convinced  as  I  was  in 
my  own  mind  that  I  was  on  the  threshold  of  a  decisive 
explanation. 

ai 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

But  we  were  each  following  his  own  train  of  thought 
to  the  exclusion  of  the  other's.  My  uncle  once  more 
paid  no  attention  to  my  words;  only  hung  his  head 
and  held  his  peace;  and  I  might  have  been  led  to  fancy 
that  he  had  not  heard  me,  if  his  next  speech  had  not 
contained  a  kind  of  echo  from  my  own. 

*'I  would  say  naething  o'  thae  clavers  to  Mary,"  he 
observed,  and  began  to  walk  forward. 

There  is  a  belt  of  turf  along  the  side  of  Aros  Bay 
where  walking  is  easy ;  and  it  was  along  this  that  I  si- 
lently followed  my  silent  kinsman.  I  was  perhaps  a  lit- 
tle disappointed  at  having  lost  so  good  an  opportunity 
to  declare  my  love;  but  I  was  at  the  same  time  far  more 
deeply  exercised  at  the  change  that  had  befallen  my 
uncle.  He  was  never  an  ordinary,  never,  in  the  strict 
sense,  an  amiable,  man ;  but  there  was  nothing  in  even 
the  worst  that  I  had  known  of  him  before,  to  prepare 
me  for  so  strange  a  transformation.  It  was  impossible 
to  close  the  eyes  against  one  fact;  that  he  had,  as  the 
saying  goes,  something  on  his  mind ;  and  as  I  mentally 
ran  over  the  different  words  which  might  be  rep- 
resented by  the  letter  M  —  misery,  mercy,  marriage, 
money,  and  the  like  —  I  was  arrested  with  a  sort  of  start 
by  the  word  murder.  I  was  still  considering  the  ugly 
sound  and  fatal  meaning  of  the  word,  when  the  direc- 
tion of  our  walk  brought  us  to  a  point  from  which  a 
view  was  to  be  had  to  either  side,  back  towards  Aros 
Bay  and  homestead,  and  forward  on  the  ocean,  dotted 
to  the  north  with  isles,  and  lying  to  the  southward  blue 
and  open  to  the  sky.  There  my  guide  came  to  a  halt, 
and  stood  staring  for  a  while  on  that  expanse.  Then  he 
turned  to  me  and  laid  a  hand  on  my  arm. 


WHAT  THE   WRECK   HAD   BROUGHT  TO   AROS 

* '  Ye  think  there's  naething  there  ?  "  he  said,  pointing 
with  his  pipe;  and  then  cried  out  aloud,  with  a  kind 
of  exultation:  "I'll  tell  ye,  man!  The  deid  are  down 
there  —  thick  like  rattons!" 

He  turned  at  once,  and,  without  another  word,  we 
retraced  our  steps  to  the  house  of  Aros. 

I  was  eager  to  be  alone  with  Mary ;  yet  it  was  not  till 
after  supper,  and  then  but  for  a  short  while,  that  I  could 
have  a  word  with  her.  I  lost  no  time  beating  about 
the  bush,  but  spoke  out  plainly  what  was  on  my 
mind. 

** Mary,"  I  said,  "I  have  not  come  to  Aros  without  a 
hope.  If  that  should  prove  well  founded,  we  may  all 
leave  and  go  somewhere  else,  secure  of  daily  bread  and 
comfort;  secure,  perhaps,  of  something  far  beyond  that, 
which  it  would  seem  extravagant  in  me  to  promise. 
But  there's  a  hope  that  lies  nearer  to  my  heart  than 
money."  And  at  that  I  paused.  *' You  can  guess  fine 
what  that  is,  Mary,"  I  said.  She  looked  away  from  me 
in  silence,  and  that  was  small  encouragement,  but  I  was 
not  to  be  put  off.  "All  my  days  I  have  thought  the 
world  of  you,"  I  continued;  "the  time  goes  on  and  I 
think  always  the  more  of  you;  I  could  not  think  to 
be  happy  or  hearty  in  my  life  without  you:  you  are 
the  apple  of  my  eye."  Still  she  looked  away,  and 
said  never  a  word;  but  I  thought  I  saw  that  her 
hands  shook.  "Mary,"  I  cried  in  fear,  "do  ye  no  like 
me?" 

"O,  Charlie  man,"  she  said,  "is  this  a  time  to  speak 
of  it?  Let  me  be,  a  while;  let  me  be  the  way  I  am; 
it'll  not  be  you  that  loses  by  the  waiting! " 

I  made  out  by  her  voice  that  she  was  nearly  weeping, 
23 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

and  this  put  me  out  of  any  thought  but  to  compose  her. 
*'Mary  Ellen,"  I  said,  "say  no  more;  I  did  not  come 
to  trouble  you:  your  way  shall  be  mine,  and  your  time 
too;  and  you  have  told  me  all  I  wanted.  Only  just 
this  one  thing  more:  what  ails  you  ?" 

She  owned  it  was  her  father,  but  would  enter  into  no 
particulars,  only  shook  her  head,  and  said  he  was  not 
well  and  not  like  himself,  and  it  was  a  great  pity.  She 
knew  nothing  of  the  wreck.  '  *  I  havenae  been  near  it, " 
said  she.  "What  for  would  I  go  near  it,  Charlie  lad ? 
The  poor  souls  are  gone  to  their  account  long  syne; 
and  I  would  just  have  wished  they  had  ta'en  their  gear 
with  them  —  poor  souls ! " 

This  was  scarcely  any  great  encouragement  for  me  to 
tell  her  of  the  Espirito  Santo ;  yet  I  did  so,  and  at  the 
very  first  word  she  cried  out  in  surprise.  "There  was 
a  man  at  Grisapol,"  she  said,  "in  the  month  of  May  — 
a  little,  yellow,  black-avised  body,  they  tell  me,  with 
gold  rings  upon  his  fingers,  and  a  beard ;  and  he  was 
speiring  high  and  low  for  that  same  ship." 

It  was  towards  the  end  of  April  that  I  had  been  given 
these  papers  to  sort  out  by  Dr.  Robertson :  and  it  came 
suddenly  back  upon  my  mind  that  they  were  thus  pre- 
pared for  a  Spanish  historian,  or  a  man  calling  himself 
such,  who  had  come  with  high  recommendations  to  the 
Principal,  on  a  mission  of  inquiry  as  to  the  dispersion 
of  the  great  Armada.  Putting  one  thing  with  another, 
I  fancied  that  the  visitor  ''  with  the  gold  rings  upon  his 
fingers  "  might  be  the  same  with  Dr.  Robertson's  his- 
torian from  Madrid.  If  that  were  so,  he  would  be  more 
likely  after  treasure  for  himself  than  information  for  a 
learned  society.     1  made  up  my  mind,  I  should  lose  no 

24 


WHAT   THE   WRECK   HAD   BROUGHT  TO   AROS 

time  over  my  undertaking;  and  if  the  ship  lay  sunk  in 
Sandag  Bay,  as  perhaps  both  he  and  I  supposed,  it 
should  not  be  for  the  advantage  of  this  ringed  adven- 
turer, but  for  Mary  and  myself,  and  for  the  good,  old, 
honest,  kindly  family  of  the  Darnaways. 


CHAPTER  III 

LAND   AND  SEA   IN  SAN  DAG  BAY 

1  WAS  early  afoot  next  morning;  and  as  soon  as  1  had 
a  bite  to  eat,  set  forth  upon  a  tour  of  exploration. 
Something  in  my  heart  distinctly  told  me  that  1  should 
find  the  ship  of  the  Armada;  and  although  1  did  not 
give  way  entirely  to  such  hopeful  thoughts,  1  was  still 
very  light  in  spirits  and  walked  upon  air.  Aros  is  a 
very  rough  islet,  its  surface  strewn  with  great  rocks  and 
shaggy  with  fern  and  heather;  and  my  way  lay  almost 
north  and  south  across  the  highest  knoll;  and  though 
the  whole  distance  was  inside  of  two  miles,  it  took 
more  time  and  exertion  than  four  upon  a  level  road. 
Upon  the  summit,  I  paused.  Although  not  very  high  — 
not  three  hundred  feet,  as  1  think — it  yet  outtops  all 
the  neighbouring  lowlands  of  the  Ross,  and  commands 
a  great  view  of  sea  and  islands.  The  sun,  which  had 
been  up  some  time,  was  already  hot  upon  my  neck; 
the  air  was  listless  and  thundery,  although  purely  clear; 
away  over  the  north-west,  where  the  isles  lie  thickliest 
congregated,  some  half-a-dozen  small  and  ragged  clouds 
hung  together  in  a  covey ;  and  the  head  of  Ben  Kyaw 
wore,  not  merely  a  few  streamers,  but  a  solid  hood  of 
vapour.  There  was  a  threat  in  the  weather.  The  sea, 
it  is  true,  was  smooth  like  glass :  even  the  Roost  was 

26 


LAND   AND  SEA  IN  SANDAG   BAY 

but  a  seam  on  that  wide  mirror,  and  the  Merry  Men  no 
more  than  caps  of  foam ;  but  to  my  eye  and  ear,  so  long 
familiar  with  these  places,  the  sea  also  seemed  to  lie  un- 
easily ;  a  sound  of  it,  like  a  long  sigh,  mounted  to  me 
where  I  stood ;  and,  quiet  as  it  was,  the  Roost  itself  ap- 
peared to  be  revolving  mischief  For  I  ought  to  say 
that  all  we  dwellers  in  these  parts  attributed,  if  not  pre- 
science, at  least  a  quality  of  warning,  to  that  strange  and 
dangerous  creature  of  the  tides. 

I  hurried  on,  then,  with  the  greater  speed,  and  had 
soon  descended  the  slope  of  Aros  to  the  part  that  we 
call  Sandag  Bay.  It  is  a  pretty  large  piece  of  water 
compared  with  the  size  of  the  isle;  well  sheltered  from 
all  but  the  prevailing  wind;  sandy  and  shoal  and 
bounded  by  low  sand-hills  to  the  west,  but  to  the  east- 
ward lying  several  fathoms  deep  along  a  ledge  of  rocks. 
It  is  upon  that  side  that,  at  a  certain  time  each  flood, 
the  current  mentioned  by  my  uncle  sets  so  strong  into 
the  bay ;  a  little  later,  when  the  Roost  begins  to  work 
higher,  an  undertow  runs  still  more  strongly  in  the 
reverse  direction ;  and  it  is  the  action  of  this  last,  as  I 
suppose,  that  has  scoured  that  part  so  deep.  Nothing 
is  to  be  seen  out  of  Sandag  Bay  but  one  small  segment 
of  the  horizon  and,  in  heavy  weather,  the  breakers  fly- 
ing high  over  a  deep  sea  reef. 

From  half-way  down  the  hill,  1  had  perceived  the 
wreck  of  February  last,  a  brig  of  considerable  tonnage, 
lying,  with  her  back  broken,  high  and  dry  on  the  east 
corner  of  the  sands ;  and  I  was  making  directly  towards 
it,  and  already  almost  on  the  margin  of  the  turf,  when 
my  eyes  were  suddenly  arrested  by  a  spot,  cleared  of 
fern  and  heather,  and  marked  by  one  of  those  long, 

2^ 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

low,  and  almost  human-looking  mounds  that  we  see  so 
commonly  in  graveyards.  I  stopped  like  a  man  shot. 
Nothing  had  been  said  to  me  of  any  dead  man  or  in- 
terment on  the  island ;  Rorie,  Mary,  and  my  uncle  had 
all  equally  held  their  peace ;  of  her  at  least,  I  was  cer- 
tain that  she  must  be  ignorant;  and  yet  here,  before 
my  eyes,  was  proof  indubitable  of  the  fact.  Here  was 
a  grave;  and  I  had  to  ask  myself,  with  a  chill,  what 
manner  of  man  lay  there  in  his  last  sleep,  awaiting  the 
signal  of  the  Lord  in  that  solitary,  sea-beat  resting- 
place  ?  My  mind  supplied  no  answer  but  what  I  feared 
to  entertain.  Shipwrecked,  at  least,  he  must  have 
been;  perhaps,  like  the  old  Armada  mariners,  from 
some  far  and  rich  land  over-sea ;  or  perhaps  one  of  my 
own  race,  perishing  within  eyesight  of  the  smoke  of 
home.  I  stood  awhile  uncovered  by  his  side,  and  I 
could  have  desired  that  it  had  lain  in  our  religion  to  put 
up  some  prayer  for  that  unhappy  stranger,  or,  in  the  old 
classic  way,  outwardly  to  honour  his  misfortune.  I 
knew,  although  his  bones  lay  there,  a  part  of  Aros,  till 
the  trumpet  sounded,  his  imperishable  soul  was  forth 
and  far  away,  among  the  raptures  of  the  everlasting 
Sabbath  or  the  pangs  of  hell ;  and  yet  my  mind  misgave 
me  even  with  a  fear,  that  perhaps  he  was  near  me 
where  I  stood,  guarding  his  sepulchre,  and  lingering  on 
the  scene  of  his  unhappy  fate. 

Certainly  it  was  with  a  spirit  somewhat  overshadowed 
that  I  turned  away  from  the  grave  to  the  hardly  less 
melancholy  spectacle  of  the  wreck.  Her  stem  was  above 
the  first  arc  of  the  flood ;  she  was  broken  in  two  a  little 
abaft  the  foremast  —  though  indeed  she  had  none,  both 
masts  having  broken  short  in  her  disaster;  and  as  the 

28 


LAND   AND  SEA   IN   SANDAG    BAY 

pitch  of  the  beach  was  very  sharp  and  sudden,  and  the 
bows  lay  many  feet  below  the  stern,  the  fracture  gaped 
widely  open,  and  you  could  see  right  through  her  poor 
hull  upon  the  farther  side.  Her  name  was  much  de- 
faced, and  I  could  not  make  out  clearly  whether  she  was 
called  Christiania,  after  the  Norwegian  city,  or  Christi- 
ana, after  the  good  woman,  Christian's  wife,  in  that  old 
book  the  **  Pilgrim's  Progress."  By  her  build  she  was 
a  foreign  ship,  but  I  was  not  certain  of  her  nationality. 
She  had  been  painted  green,  but  the  colour  was  faded 
and  weathered,  and  the  paint  peeling  off  in  strips. 
The  wreck  of  the  mainmast  lay  alongside,  half  buried 
in  sand.  She  was  a  forlorn  sight,  indeed,  and  I  could 
not  look  without  emotion  at  the  bits  of  rope  that  still 
hung  about  her,  so  often  handled  of  yore  by  shouting 
seamen ;  or  the  little  scuttle  where  they  had  passed  up 
and  down  to  their  affairs ;  or  that  poor  noseless  angel 
of  a  figurehead  that  had  dipped  into  so  many  running 
billows. 

I  do  not  know  whether  it  came  most  from  the  ship  or 
from  the  grave,  but  I  fell  into  some  melancholy  scruples, 
as  I  stood  there,  leaning  with  one  hand  against  the  bat- 
tered timbers.  The  homelessness  of  men  and  even  of 
inanimate  vessels,  cast  away  upon  strange  shores,  came 
strongly  in  upon  my  mind.  To  make  a  profit  of  such 
pitiful  misadventures  seemed  an  unmanly  and  a  sordid 
act;  and  I  began  to  think  of  my  then  quest  as  of  some- 
thing sacrilegious  in  its  nature.  But  when  I  remembered 
Mary,  1  took  heart  again.  My  uncle  would  never  con- 
sent to  an  imprudent  marriage,  nor  would  she,  as  I  was 
persuaded,  wed  without  his  full  approval.  It  behoved 
me,  then,  to  be  up  and  doing  for  my  wife ;  and  I  thought 

29 


THE  MERRY   MEN 

with  a  laugh  how  long  it  was  since  that  great  sea-castle 
the  Espirito  Santo,  had  left  her  bones  in  Sandag  Bay, 
and  how  weak  it  would  be  to  consider  rights  so  long 
extinguished  and  misfortunes  so  long  forgotten  in  the 
process  of  time. 

I  had  my  theory  of  where  to  seek  for  her  remains.^ 
The  set  of  the  current  and  the  soundings  both  pointed 
to  the  east  side  of  the  bay  under  the  ledge  of  rocks. 
If  she  had  been  lost  in  Sandag  Bay,  and  if,  after  these 
centuries,  any  portion  of  her  held  together,  it  was  there 
that  I  should  find  it.  The  water  deepens,  as  I  have 
said,  with  great  rapidity,  and  even  close  alongside  the 
rocks  several  fathoms  may  be  found.  As  I  walked  upon 
the  edge  I  could  see  far  and  wide  over  the  sandy  bottom 
of  the  bay ;  the  sun  shone  clear  and  green  and  steady 
in  the  deeps ;  the  bay  seemed  rather  like  a  great  trans- 
parent crystal,  as  one  sees  them  in  a  lapidary's  shop; 
there  was  naught  to  show  that  it  was  water  but  an  in- 
ternal trembling,  a  hovering  within  of  sun-glints  and 
netted  shadows,  and  now  and  then  a  faint  lap  and  a 
dying  bubble  round  the  edge.  The  shadows  of  the 
rocks  lay  out  for  some  distance  at  their  feet,  so  that  my 
own  shadow,  moving,  pausing,  and  stooping  on  the 
top  of  that,  reached  sometimes  half  across  the  bay.  It 
was  above  all  in  this  belt  of  shadows  that  I  hunted  for 
the  Espirito  Santo;  since  it  was  there  the  undertow  ran 
strongest,  whether  in  or  out.  Cool  as  the  whole  water 
seemed  this  broiling  day,  it  looked,  in  that  part,  yet 
cooler,  and  had  a  mysterious  invitation  for  the  eyes. 
Peer  as  I  pleased,  however,  I  could  see  nothing  but  a 
few  fishes  or  a  bush  of  sea-tangle,  and  here  and  there 
a  lump  of  rock  that  had  fallen  from  above  and  now  lay 

30 


LAND   AND   SEA   IN   SANDAG   BAY 

separate  on  the  sandy  floor.  Twice  did  I  pass  from  one 
end  to  the  other  of  the  rocks,  and  in  the  whole  dis- 
tance I  could  see  nothing  of  the  wreck,  nor  any  place 
but  one  where  it  was  possible  for  it  to  be.  This  was  a 
large  terrace  in  five  fathoms  of  water,  raised  off  the 
surface  of  the  sand  to  a  considerable  height,  and  look- 
ing from  above  like  a  mere  outgrowth  of  the  rocks  on 
which  1  walked.  It  was  one  mass  of  great  sea-tangles 
like  a  grove,  which  prevented  me  judging  of  its  nature, 
but  in  shape  and  size  it  bore  some  likeness  to  a  vessel's 
hull.  At  least  it  was  my  best  chance.  If  the  Espirito 
Santo  lay  not  there  under  the  tangles,  it  lay  nowhere  at 
all  in  Sandag  Bay ;  and  1  prepared  to  put  the  question 
to  the  proof,  once  and  for  all,  and  either  go  back  to  Aros 
a  rich  man  or  cured  for  ever  of  my  dreams  of  wealth. 

I  stripped  to  the  skin,  and  stood  on  Jhe  extreme  mar- 
gin with  my  hands  clasped,  irresolute.  The  bay  at  that 
time  was  utterly  quiet;  there  was  no  sound  but  from  a 
school  of  porpoises  somewhere  out  of  sight  behind  the 
point;  yet  a  certain  fear  withheld  me  on  the  threshold 
of  my  venture.  Sad  sea-feelings,  scraps  of  my  uncle's 
superstitions,  thoughts  of  the  dead,  of  the  grave,  of  the 
old  broken  ships,  drifted  through  my  mind.  But  the 
strong  sun  upon  my  shoulders  warmed  me  to  the  heart, 
and  I  stooped  forward  and  plunged  into  the  sea. 

It  was  all  that  I  could  do  to  catch  a  trail  of  the  sea- 
tangle  that  grew  so  thickly  on  the  terrace;  but  once  so 
far  anchored  I  secured  myself  by  grasping  a  whole  arm- 
ful of  these  thick  and  slimy  stalks,  and,  planting  my  feet 
against  the  edge,  1  looked  around  me.  On  all  sides  the 
clear  sand  stretched  forth  unbroken ;  it  came  to  the  foot 
of  the  rocks,  scoured  into  the  likeness  of  an  alley  in  a 

31 


THE  MERRY   MEN 

garden  by  the  action  of  the  tides;  and  before  me,  for  as 
far  as  I  could  see,  nothing  was  visible  but  the  same  many- 
folded  sand  upon  the  sun-bright  bottom  of  the  bay.  Yet 
the  terrace  to  which  I  was  then  holding  was  as  thick 
with  strong  sea-growths  as  a  tuft  of  heather,  and  the 
cliff  from  which  it  bulged  hung  draped  below  the  water- 
line  with  brown  lianas.  In  this  complexity  of  forms,  all 
swaying  together  in  the  current,  things  were  hard  to  be 
distinguished ;  and  I  was  still  uncertain  whether  my  feet 
were  pressed  upon  the  natural  rock  or  upon  the  timbers 
of  the  Armada  treasure-ship,  when  the  whole  tuft  of 
tangle  came  away  in  my  hand,  and  in  an  instant  I  was 
on  the  surface,  and  the  shores  of  the  bay  and  the  bright 
water  swam  before  my  eyes  in  a  glory  of  crimson. 

I  clambered  back  upon  the  rocks,  and  threw  the  plant 
of  tangle  at  my  feet.  Something  at  the  same  moment 
rang  sharply,  like  a  falling  coin.  I  stooped,  and  there, 
sure  enough,  crusted  with  the  red  rust,  there  lay  an  iron 
shoe-buckle.  The  sight  of  this  poor  human  relic  thrilled 
me  to  the  heart,  but  not  with  hope  nor  fear,  only  with 
a  desolate  melancholy.  I  held  it  in  my  hand,  and  the 
thought  of  its  owner  appeared  before  me  like  the  pres- 
ence of  an  actual  man.  His  weather-beaten  face,  his 
sailor's  hands,  his  sea-voice  hoarse  with  singing  at  the 
capstan,  the  very  foot  that  had  once  worn  that  buckle 
and  trod  so  much  along  the  swerving  decks — the  whole 
human  fact  of  him,  as  a  creature  like  myself,  with  hair 
and  blood  and  seeing  eyes,  haunted  me  in  that  sunny, 
solitary  place,  not  like  a  spectre,  but  like  some  friend 
whom  I  had  basely  injured.  Was  the  great  treasure- 
ship  indeed  below  there,  with  her  guns  and  chain  and 
treasure,  as  she  had  sailed  from  Spain ;  her  decks  a  gar- 

32 


LAND  AND  SEA   IN   SANDAG   BAY 

den  for  the  seaweed,  her  cabin  a  breeding  place  for 
fish,  soundless  but  for  the  dredging  water,  motionless 
but  for  the  waving  of  the  tangle  upon  her  battlements 
—  that  old,  populous,  sea-riding  castle,  now  a  reef  in 
Sandag  Bay?  Or,  as  I  thought  it  likelier,  was  this  a 
waif  from  the  disaster  of  the  foreign  brig — was  this 
shoe-buckle  bought  but  the  other  day  and  worn  by  a 
man  of  my  own  period  in  the  world's  history,  hearing 
the  same  news  from  day  to  day,  thinking  the  same 
thoughts,  praying,  perhaps,  in  the  same  temple  with 
myself?  However  it  was,  I  was  assailed  with  dreary 
thoughts ;  my  uncle's  words,  *  *  the  dead  are  down  there, " 
echoed  in  my  ears;  and  though  I  determined  to  dive  once 
more,  it  was  with  a  strong  repugnance  that  I  stepped 
forward  to  the  margin  of  the  rocks. 

A  great  change  passed  at  that  moment  over  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  bay.  It  was  no  more  that  clear,  visible 
interior,  like  a  house  roofed  with  glass,  where  the  green, 
submarine  sunshine  slept  so  stilly.  A  breeze,  1  suppose, 
had  flawed  the  surface,  and  a  sort  of  trouble  and  black- 
ness filled  its  bosom,  where  flashes  of  light  and  clouds 
of  shadow  tossed  confusedly  together.  Even  the  terrace 
below  obscurely  rocked  and  quivered.  It  seemed  a 
graver  thing  to  venture  on  this  place  of  ambushes;  and 
when  1  leaped  into  the  sea  the  second  time  it  was  with 
a  quaking  in  my  soul. 

I  secured  myself  as  at  first,  and  groped  among  the 
waving  tangle.  All  that  met  my  touch  was  cold  and 
soft  and  gluey.  The  thicket  was  alive  with  crabs  and 
lobsters,  trundling  to  and  fro  lopsidedly,  and  1  had  to 
harden  my  heart  against  the  horror  of  their  carrion 
neighbourhood.     On  all  sides  I  could  feel  the  grain  and 


THE   MERRY    MEN 

the  clefts  of  hard,  living  stone ;  no  planks,  no  iron,  not 
a  sign  of  any  wreck;  the  Espirito  Santo  was  not  there. 
1  remember  I  had  almost  a  sense  of  relief  in  my  disap- 
pointment, and  1  was  about  ready  to  leave  go,  when 
something  happened  that  sent  me  to  the  surface  with 
my  heart  in  my  mouth.  I  had  already  stayed  some- 
what late  over  my  explorations ;  the  current  was  fresh- 
ening with  the  change  of  the  tide,  and  Sandag  Bay  was 
no  longer  a  safe  place  for  a  single  swimmer.  Well, 
just  at  the  last  moment  there  came  a  sudden  flush  of 
current,  dredging  through  the  tangles  like  a  wave.  I 
lost  one  hold,  was  flung  sprawling  on  my  side,  and, 
instinctively  grasping  for  a  fresh  support,  my  fingers 
closed  on  something  hard  and  cold.  I  think  I  knew  at 
that  moment  what  it  was.  At  least  I  instantly  left  hold 
of  the  tangle,  leaped  for  the  surface,  and  clambered  out 
next  moment  on  the  friendly  rocks  with  the  bone  of  a 
man's  leg  in  my  grasp. 

Mankind  is  a  material  creature,  slow  to  think  and  dull 
to  perceive  connections.  The  grave,  the  wreck  of  the 
brig,  and  the  rusty  shoe-buckle  were  surely  plain  adver- 
tisements. A  child  might  have  read  their  dismal  story, 
and  yet  it  was  not  until  I  touched  that  actual  piece  of 
mankind  that  the  full  horror  of  the  charnel  ocean  burst 
upon  my  spirit.  I  laid  the  bone  beside  the  buckle, 
picked  up  my  clothes,  and  ran  as  I  was  along  the  rocks 
towards  the  human  shore.  I  could  not  be  far  enough 
from  the  spot;  no  fortune  was  vast  enough  to  tempt 
me  back  again.  The  bones  of  the  drowned  dead  should 
henceforth  roll  undisturbed  by  me,  whether  on  tangle  or 
minted  gold.  But  as  soon  as  I  trod  the  good  earth  again, 
and  had  covered  my  nakedness  against  the  sun,  1  knelt 

34 


LAND   AND  SEA    IN   SANDAG   BAY 

down  over  against  the  ruins  of  the  brig,  and  out  of  the 
fulness  of  my  heart  prayed  long  and  passionately  for  all 
poor  souls  upon  the  sea.  A  generous  prayer  is  never 
presented  in  vain ;  the  petition  may  be  refused,  but  the 
petitioner  is  always,  1  believe,  rewarded  by  some  gra- 
cious visitation.  The  horror,  at  least,  was  lifted  from 
my  mind ;  I  could  look  with  calm  of  spirit  on  that  great 
bright  creature,  God's  ocean ;  and  as  I  set  off  homeward  up 
the  rough  sides  of  Aros,  nothing  remained  of  any  concern 
beyond  a  deep  determination  to  meddle  no  more  with 
the  spoils  of  wrecked  vessels  or  the  treasures  of  the  dead. 

I  was  already  some  way  up  the  hill  before  1  paused  to 
breathe  and  look  behind  me.  The  sight  that  met  my 
eyes  was  doubly  strange. 

For,  first,  the  storm  that  1  had  foreseen  was  now  ad- 
vancing with  almost  tropical  rapidity.  The  whole  sur- 
face of  the  sea  had  been  dulled  from  its  conspicuous 
brightness  to  an  ugly  hue  of  corrugated  lead ;  already 
in  the  distance  the  white  waves,  the  "  skipper's  daugh- 
ters," had  begun  to  flee  before  a  breeze  that  was  still 
insensible  on  Aros ;  and  already  along  the  curve  of  San- 
dag  Bay  there  was  a  splashing  run  of  sea  that  I  could 
hear  from  where  I  stood.  The  change  upon  the  sky 
was  even  more  remarkable.  There  had  begun  to  arise 
out  of  the  south-west  a  huge  and  solid  continent  of 
scowling  cloud;  here  and  there,  through  rents  in  its 
contexture,  the  sun  still  poured  a  sheaf  of  spreading 
rays;  and  here  and  there,  from  all  its  edges,  vast  inky 
streamers  lay  forth  along  the  yet  unclouded  sky.  The 
menace  was  express  and  imminent.  Even  as  I  gazed, 
the  sun  was  blotted  out.  At  any  moment  the  tempest 
might  fall  upon  Aros  in  its  might. 

35 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

The  suddenness  of  this  change  of  weather  so  fixed 
my  eyes  on  heaven  that  it  was  some  seconds  before  they 
alighted  on  the  bay,  mapped  out  below  my  feet,  and 
robbed  a  moment  later  of  the  sun.  The  knoll  which  I 
had  just  surmounted  overflanked  a  little  amphitheatre 
of  lower  hillocks  sloping  towards  the  sea,  and  beyond 
that  the  yellow  arc  of  beach  and  the  whole  extent  of 
Sandag  Bay.  It  was  a  scene  on  which  I  had  often 
looked  down,  but  where  I  had  never  before  beheld  a 
human  figure.  I  had  but  just  turned  my  back  upon  it 
and  left  it  empty,  and  my  wonder  may  be  fancied  when 
I  saw  a  boat  and  several  men  in  that  deserted  spot. 
The  boat  was  lying  by  the  rocks.  A  pair  of  fellows, 
bareheaded,  with  their  sleeves  rolled  up,  and  one  with  a 
boathook,  kept  her  with  difficulty  to  her  moorings,  for 
the  current  was  growing  brisker  every  moment.  A  lit- 
tle way  off  upon  the  ledge  two  men  in  black  clothes, 
whom  I  judged  to  be  superior  in  rank,  laid  their  heads 
together  over  some  task  which  at  first  I  did  not  under- 
stand, but  a  second  after  I  had  made  it  out  —  they  were 
taking  bearings  with  the  compass ;  and  just  then  1  saw 
one  of  them  unroll  a  sheet  of  paper  and  lay  his  finger 
down,  as  though  identifying  features  in  a  map.  Mean- 
while a  third  was  walking  to  and  fro,  poking  among  the 
rocks  and  peering  over  the  edge  into  the  water.  While 
I  was  still  watching  them  with  the  stupefaction  of  sur- 
prise, my  mind  hardly  yet  able  to  work  on  what  my 
eyes  reported,  this  third  person  suddenly  stooped  and 
summoned  his  companions  with  a  cry  so  loud  that  it 
reached  my  ears  upon  the  hill.  The  others  ran  to  him, 
even  dropping  the  compass  in  their  hurry,  and  I  could 
see  the  bone  and  the  shoe-buckle  going  from  hand  to 

36 


LAND  AND   SEA   IN   SAN  DAG   BAY 

hand,  causing  the  most  unusual  gesticulations  of  sur- 
prise and  interest.  Just  then  I  could  hear  the  seamen 
crying  from  the  boat,  and  saw  them  point  westward  to 
that  cloud  continent  which  was  ever  the  more  rapidly 
unfurling  its  blackness  over  heaven.  The  others  seemed 
to  consult ;  but  the  danger  was  too  pressing  to  be  braved, 
and  they  bundled  into  the  boat  carrying  my  relics  with 
them,  and  set  forth  out  of  the  bay  with  all  speed  of  oars. 
I  made  no  more  ado  about  the  matter,  but  turned  and 
ran  for  the  house.  Whoever  these  men  were,  it  was  fit 
my  uncle  should  be  instantly  informed.  It  was  not  then 
altogether  too  late  in  the  day  for  a  descent  of  the  Jacob- 
ites; and  may  be  Prince  Charlie,  whom  I  knew  my  uncle 
to  detest,  was  one  of  the  three  superiors  whom  I  had 
seen  upon  the  rock.  Yet  as  I  ran,  leaping  from  rock  to 
rock,  and  turned  the  matter  loosely  in  my  mind,  this 
theory  grew  ever  the  longer  the  less  welcome  to  my 
reason.  The  compass,  the  map,  the  interest  awakened 
by  the  buckle,  and  the  conduct  of  that  one  among  the 
strangers  who  had  looked  so  often  below  him  in  the 
water,  all  seemed  to  point  to  a  different  explanation  of 
their  presence  on  that  outlying,  obscure  islet  of  the 
western  sea.  The  Madrid  historian,  the  search  insti- 
tuted by  Dr.  Robertson,  the  bearded  stranger  with  the 
rings,  my  own  fruitless  search  that  very  morning  in 
the  deep  water  of  Sandag  Bay,  ran  together,  piece  by 
piece,  in  my  memory,  and  1  made  sure  that  these 
strangers  must  be  Spaniards  in  quest  of  ancient  trea- 
sure and  the  lost  ship  of  the  Armada.  But  the  people 
living  in  outlying  islands,  such  as  Aros,  are  answerable 
for  their  own  security ;  there  is  none  near  by  to  protect 
or  even  to  help  them ;  and  the  presence  in  such  a  spot 

37 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

of  a  crew  of  foreign  adventurers  —  poor,  greedy,  and 
most  likely  lawless  —  filled  me  with  apprehensions  for 
my  uncle's  money,  and  even  for  the  safety  of  his  daugh- 
ter. I  was  still  wondering  how  we  were  to  get  rid  of 
them  when  1  came,  all  breathless,  to  the  top  of  Aros. 
The  whole  world  was  shadowed  over;  only  in  the  ex- 
treme east,  on  a  hill  of  the  mainland,  one  last  gleam  of 
sunshine  lingered  like  a  jewel ;  rain  had  begun  to  fall, 
not  heavily,  but  in  great  drops ;  the  sea  was  rising  with 
each  moment,  and  already  a  band  of  white  encircled 
Aros  and  the  nearer  coasts  of  Grisapol.  The  boat  was 
still  pulling  seaward,  but  I  now  became  aware  of  what 
had  been  hidden  from  me  lower  down  —  a  large,  heavily 
sparred,  handsome  schooner,  lying  to  at  the  south  end 
of  Aros.  Since  I  had  not  seen  her  in  the  morning  when 
I  had  looked  around  so  closely  at  the  signs  of  the 
weather,  and  upon  these  lone  waters  where  a  sail  was 
rarely  visible,  it  was  clear  she  must  have  lain  last  night 
behind  the  uninhabited  Eilean  Gour,  and  this  proved 
conclusively  that  she  was  manned  by  strangers  to  our 
coast,  for  that  anchorage,  though  good  enough  to  look 
at,  is  little  better  than  a  trap  for  ships.  With  such 
ignorant  sailors  upon  so  wild  a  coast,  the  coming  gale 
was  not  unlikely  to  bring  death  upon  its  wings. 


38 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   GALE 

I  FOUND  my  uncle  at  the  gable  end,  watching  the  signs 
of  the  weather,  with  a  pipe  in  his  fingers. 

"Uncle,"  said  I,  "there  were  men  ashore  at  Sandag 
Bay " 

I  had  no  time  to  go  further;  indeed,  I  not  only  forgot 
my  words,  but  even  my  weariness,  so  strange  was  the 
effect  on  Uncle  Gordon.  He  dropped  his  pipe  and  fell 
back  against  the  end  of  the  house  with  his  jaw  fallen, 
his  eyes  staring,  and  his  long  face  as  white  as  paper. 
We  must  have  looked  at  one  another  silently  for  a  quar- 
ter of  a  minute,  before  he  made  answer  in  this  extraor- 
dinary fashion:  "  Had  he  a  hair  kep  on  ?" 

1  knew  as  well  as  if  1  had  been  there  that  the  man 
who  now  lay  buried  at  Sandag  had  worn  a  hairy  cap, 
and  that  he  had  come  ashore  alive.  For  the  first  and 
only  time  I  lost  toleration  for  the  man  who  was  my 
benefactor  and  the  father  of  the  woman  I  hoped  to  call 
my  wife. 

"These  were  living  men,"  said  I,  "  perhaps  Jacobites, 
perhaps  the  French,  perhaps  pirates,  perhaps  adventurers 
come  here  to  seek  the  Spanish  treasure  ship ;  but,  what- 
ever they  may  be,  dangerous  at  least  to  your  daughter 
and  my  cousin.  As  for  your  own  guilty  terrors,  man, 
the  dead  sleeps  well  where  you  have  laid  him.    I  stood 

39 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

this  morning  by  his  grave;  he  will  not  wake  before  the 
trump  of  doom." 

My  kinsman  looked  upon  me,  blinking,  while  I  spoke ; 
then  he  fixed  his  eyes  for  a  little  on  the  ground,  and 
pulled  his  fingers  foolishly ;  -but  it  was  plain  that  he  was 
past  the  power  of  speech. 

"  Come,"  said  I.  **  You  must  think  for  others.  You 
must  come  up  the  hill  with  me,  and  see  this  ship." 

He  obeyed  without  a  word  or  a  look,  following  slowly 
after  my  impatient  strides.  The  spring  seemed  to  have 
gone  out  of  his  body,  and  he  scrambled  heavily  up  and 
down  the  rocks,  instead  of  leaping,  as  he  was  wont, 
from  one  to  another.  Nor  could  I,  for  all  my  cries,  in- 
duce him  to  make  better  haste.  Only  once  he  replied  to 
me  complainingly,  and  like  one  in  bodily  pain:  "Ay, 
ay,  man,  I'm  coming."  Long  before  we  had  reached 
the  top,  I  had  no  other  thought  for  him  but  pity.  If 
the  crime  had  been  monstrous,  the  punishment  was  in 
proportion. 

At  last  we  emerged  above  the  sky-line  of  the  hill,  and 
could  see  around  us.  All  was  black  and  stormy  to  the 
eye ;  the  last  gleam  of  sun  had  vanished ;  a  wind  had 
sprung  up,  not  yet  high,  but  gusty  and  unsteady  to  the 
point;  the  rain,  on  the  other  hand,  had  ceased.  Short 
as  was  the  interval,  the  sea  already  ran  vastly  higher 
than  when  I  had  stood  there  last;  already  it  had  begun 
to  break  over  some  of  the  outward  reefs,  and  already  it 
moaned  aloud  in  the  sea-caves  of  Aros.  I  looked,  at  first 
in  vain,  for  the  schooner. 

**  There  she  is,"  1  said  at  last.  But  her  new  position, 
and  the  course  she  was  now  lying,  puzzled  me.  "They 
cannot  mean  to  beat  to  sea,"  I  cried. 

40 


THE  GALE 

"  That's  what  they  mean,"  said  my  uncle,  with  some- 
thing like  joy;  and  just  then  the  schooner  went  about 
and  stood  upon  another  tack,  which  put  the  question 
beyond  the  reach  of  doubt.  These  strangers,  seeing  a 
gale  on  hand,  had  thought  first  of  sea-room.  With  the 
wind  that  threatened,  in  these  reef-sown  waters  and  con- 
tending against  so  violent  a  stream  of  tide,  their  course 
was  certain  death. 

**Good  God!  "  said  I,  **they  are  all  lost." 

"Ay,"  returned  my  uncle,  "a' — a'  lost.  They  had- 
nae  a  chance  but  to  rin  for  Kyle  Dona.  The  gate  they're 
gaun  the  noo,  they  couldnae  win  through  an  the  muckle 
deil  were  there  to  pilot  them.  Eh,  man,"  he  continued, 
touching  me  on  the  sleeve,  "it's  a  braw  nicht  for  a 
shipwreck!  Twa  in  ae  twalmonth!  Eh,  but  the  Merry 
Men  '11  dance  bonny!  " 

I  looked  at  him,  and  it  was  then  that  1  began  to  fancy 
him  no  longer  in  his  right  mind.  He  was  peering  up 
to  me,  as  if  for  sympathy,  a  timid  joy  in  his  eyes.  All 
that  had  passed  between  us  was  already  forgotten  in  the 
prospect  of  this  fresh  disaster. 

"If  it  were  not  too  late,"  I  cried  with  indignation,  "I 
^ould  take  the  coble  and  go  out  to  warn  them." 

"Na,  na,"  he  protested,  "ye  maunnae  interfere;  ye 
naunnae  meddle  wi'  the  like  o'  that.  It's  His,"  —  doff- 
ing his  bonnet — "His  wull.  And,  eh,  man!  but  it's  a 
braw  nicht  for't!" 

Something  like  fear  began  to  creep  into  my  soul ;  and, 
reminding  him  that  I  had  not  yet  dined,  I  proposed  we 
should  return  to  the  house.  But  no;  nothing  would 
tear  him  from  his  place  of  outlook. 

"I  maun  see  the  hail  thing,  man,  Cherlie,"  he  ex- 
4> 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

plained ;  and  then  as  the  schooner  went  about  a  second 
time,  **  Eh,  but  they  han'Ie  her  bonny!"  hecried.  "The 
Christ- Anna  was  naething  to  this." 

Already  the  men  on  board  the  schooner  must  have 
begun  to  realize  some  part,  but  not  yet  the  twentieth, 
of  the  dangers  that  environed  their  doomed  ship.  At 
every  lull  of  the  capricious  wind  they  must  have  seen 
how  fast  the  current  swept  them  back.  Each  tack  was 
made  shorter,  as  they  saw  how  little  it  prevailed.  Every 
moment  the  rising  swell  began  to  boom  and  foam  upon 
another  sunken  reef;  and  ever  and  again  a  breaker 
would  fall  in  sounding  ruin  under  the  very  bows  of  her, 
and  the  brown  reef  and  streaming  tangle  appear  in  the 
hollow  of  the  wave.  1  tell  you,  they  had  to  stand  to 
their  tackle :  there  was  no  idle  man  aboard  that  ship, 
God  knows.  It  was  upon  the  progress  of  a  scene  so 
horrible  to  any  human-hearted  man  that  my  misguided 
uncle  now  pored  and  gloated  like  a  connoisseur.  As  I 
turned  to  go  down  the  hill,  he  was  lying  on  his  belly  on 
the  summit,  with  his  hands  stretched  forth  and  clutching 
in  the  heather.    He  seemed  rejuvenated,  mind  and  body. 

When  I  got  back  to  the  house  already  dismally  af- 
fected, I  was  still  more  sadly  downcast  at  the  sight  of 
Mary.  She  had  her  sleeves  rolled  up  over  her  strong 
arms,  and  was  quietly  making  bread.  1  got  a  bannock 
from  the  dresser  and  sat  down  to  eat  it  in  silence. 

**  Are  ye  wearied,  lad  }  "  she  asked  after  a  while. 

'M  am  not  so  much  wearied,  Mary,"  I  replied,  getting 
on  my  feet,  *'as  I  am  weary  of  delay,  and  perhaps  of 
Aros  too.  You  know  me  well  enough  to  judge  me  fairly, 
say  what  I  like.  Well,  Mary,  you  may  be  sure  of  this : 
you  had  better  be  anywhere  but  here." 

42 


THE   GALE 

'M'll  be  sure  of  one  thing,"  she  returned:  "I'll  be 
where  my  duty  is." 

'*  You  forget,  you  have  a  duty  to  yourself,"  I  said. 

"Ay,  man?"  she  replied,  pounding  at  the  dough; 
"will  you  have  found  that  in  the  Bible,  now ?" 

"Mary,"  I  said  solemnly,  "you  must  not  laugh  at 
me  just  now.  God  knows  I  am  in  no  heart  for  laugh- 
ing. If  we  could  get  your  father  with  us,  it  would  be 
best;  but  with  him  or  without  him,  I  want  you  far 
away  from  here,  my  girl ;  for  your  own  sake,  and  for 
mine,  ay,  and  for  your  father's  too,  1  want  you  far — far 
away  from  here.  I  came  with  other  thoughts ;  I  came 
here  as  a  man  comes  home;  now  it  is  all  changed,  and 
I  have  no  desire  nor  hope  but  to  flee  —  for  that's  the 
word  —  flee,  like  a  bird  out  of  the  fowler's  snare,  from 
this  accursed  island." 

She  had  stopped  her  work  by  this  time. 

"And  do  you  think,  now,"  said  she,  " do  you  think, 
now,  1  have  neither  eyes  nor  ears  ?  Do  ye  think  I  have- 
nae  broken  my  heart  to  have  these  braws  (as  he  calls 
them,  God  forgive  him !)  thrown  into  the  sea  ?  Do  ye 
think  I  have  lived  with  him,  day  in,  day  out,  and  not 
seen  what  you  saw  in  an  hour  or  two  ?  No,"  she  said, 
"I  know  there's  wrong  in  it;  what  wrong,  I  neither 
know  nor  want  to  know.  There  was  never  an  ill  thing 
made  better  by  meddling,  that  I  could  hear  of  But, 
my  lad,  you  must  never  ask  me  to  leave  my  father. 
While  the  breath  is  in  his  body,  I'll  be  with  him.  And 
he's  not  long  for  here,  either:  that  I  can  tell  you,  Charlie 
—  he's  not  long  for  here.  The  mark  is  on  his  brow ;  and 
better  so  —  maybe  better  so." 

1  was  a  while  silent,  not  knowing  what  to  say ;  and 

43 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

when  I  roused  my  head  at  last  to  speak,  she  got  before 
me. 

"Charlie,"  she  said,  "what's  right  for  me,  neednae 
be  right  for  you.  There's  sin  upon  this  house  and 
trouble;  you  are  a  stranger;  take  your  things  upon 
your  back  and  go  your  ways  to  better  places  and  to 
better  folk,  and  if  you  were  ever  minded  to  come  back, 
though  it  were  twenty  years  syne,  you  would  find  me 
aye  waiting." 

"Mary  Ellen,"  I  said,  "I  asked  you  to  be  my  wife, 
and  you  said  as  good  as  yes.  That's  done  for  good. 
Wherever  you  are,  I  am ;  as  I  shall  answer  to  my  God." 

As  I  said  the  words,  the  winds  suddenly  burst  out 
raving,  and  then  seemed  to  stand  still  and  shudder 
round  the  house  of  Aros.  It  was  the  first  squall,  or 
prologue,  of  the  coming  tempest,  and  as  we  started  and 
looked  about  us,  we  found  that  a  gloom,  like  the  ap- 
proach of  evening,  had  settled  round  the  house. 

"  God  pity  all  poor  folks  at  sea!  "  she  said.  "  We'll 
see  no  more  of  my  father  till  the  morrow's  morning." 

And  then  she  told  me,  as  we  sat  by  the  fire  and 
hearkened  to  the  rising  gusts,  of  how  this  change  had 
fallen  upon  my  uncle.  All  last  winter  he  had  been  dark 
and  fitful  in  his  mind.  Whenever  the  Roost  ran  high, 
or,  as  Mary  said,  whenever  the  Merry  Men  were  danc- 
ing, he  would  lie  out  for  hours  together  on  the  Head, 
if  it  were  at  night,  or  on  the  top  of  Aros  by  day,  watch- 
ing the  tumult  of  the  sea,  and  sweeping  the  horizon  for 
a  sail.  After  February  the  tenth,  when  the  wealth- 
bringing  wreck  was  cast  ashore  at  Sandag,  he  had  been 
at  first  unnaturally  gay,  and  his  excitement  had  never 
fallen  in  degree,  but  only  changed  in  kind  from  dark  to 

44 


THE   GALE 

darker.  He  neglected  his  work,  and  kept  Rorie  idle. 
They  two  would  speak  together  by  the  hour  at  the  gable 
end,  in  guarded  tones  and  with  an  air  of  secrecy  and 
almost  of  guilt;  and  if  she  questioned  either,  as  at  first 
she  sometimes  did,  her  inquiries  were  put  aside  with 
confusion.  Since  Rorie  had  first  remarked  the  fish  that 
hung  about  the  ferry,  his  master  had  never  set  foot  but 
once  upon  the  mainland  of  the  Ross.  That  once  —  it 
was  in  the  height  of  the  springs  —  he  had  passed  dry- 
shod  while  the  tide  was  out ;  but,  having  lingered  over- 
long  on  the  far  side,  found  himself  cut  off  from  Aros  by 
the  returning  waters.  It  was  with  a  shriek  of  agony 
that  he  had  leaped  across  the  gut,  and  he  had  reached 
home  thereafter  in  a  fever-fit  of  fear.  A  fear  of  the  sea, 
a  constant  haunting  thought  of  the  sea,  appeared  in  his 
talk  and  devotions,  and  even  in  his  looks  when  he  was 
silent. 

Rorie  alone  came  in  to  supper ;  but  a  little  later  my 
uncle  appeared,  took  a  bottle  under  his  arm,  put  some 
bread  in  his  pocket,  and  set  forth  again  to  his  outlook, 
followed  this  time  by  Rorie.  I  heard  that  the  schooner 
was  losing  ground,  but  the  crew  were  still  fighting 
every  inch  with  hopeless  ingenuity  and  courage;  and 
the  news  filled  my  mind  with  blackness. 

A  little  after  sundown  the  full  fury  of  the  gale  broke 
forth,  such  a  gale  as  I  have  never  seen  in  summer,  nor, 
seeing  how  swiftly  it  had  come,  even  in  winter.  Mary 
and  I  sat  in  silence,  the  house  quaking  overhead,  the 
tempest  howling  without,  the  fire  between  us  sputter- 
ing with  raindrops.  Our  thoughts  were  far  away  with 
the  poor  fellows  on  the  schooner,  or  my  not  less  un- 
happy uncle,  houseless  on  the  promontory;    and  yet 

45 


THE  MERRY   MEN 

ever  and  again  we  were  startled  back  to  ourselves,  when 
the  wind  would  rise  and  strike  the  gable  like  a  solid 
body,  or  suddenly  fall  and  draw  away,  so  that  the  fire 
leaped  into  flame  and  our  hearts  bounded  in  our  sides. 
Now  the  storm  in  its  might  would  seize  and  shake  the 
four  corners  of  the  roof,  roaring  like  Leviathan  in  anger. 
Anon,  in  a  lull,  cold  eddies  of  tempest  moved  shudder- 
ingly  in  the  room,  lifting  the  hair  upon  our  heads  and 
passing  between  us  as  we  sat.  And  again  the  wind 
would  break  forth  in  a  chorus  of  melancholy  sounds, 
hooting  low  in  the  chimney,  wailing  with  flutelike  soft- 
ness round  the  house. 

It  was  perhaps  eight  o'clock  when  Rorie  came  in  and 
pulled  me  mysteriously  to  the  door.  My  uncle,  it  ap- 
peared, had  frightened  even  his  constant  comrade;  and 
Rorie,  uneasy  at  his  extravagance,  prayed  me  to  come 
out  and  share  the  watch.  I  hastened  to  do  as  I  was 
asked ;  the  more  readily  as,  what  with  fear  and  horror, 
and  the  electrical  tension  of  the  night,  I  was  myself  rest- 
less and  disposed  for  action.  I  told  Mary  to  be  under 
no  alarm,  for  I  should  be  a  safeguard  on  her  father;  and 
wrapping  myself  warmly  in  a  plaid,  I  followed  Rorie 
into  the  open  air. 

The  night,  though  we  were  so  little  past  midsummer, 
was  as  dark  as  January.  Intervals  of  a  groping  twi- 
light alternated  with  spells  of  utter  blackness ;  and  it 
was  impossible  to  trace  the  reason  of  these  changes  in 
the  flying  horror  of  the  sky.  The  wind  blew  the  breath 
out  of  a  man's  nostrils;  all  heaven  seemed  to  thunder 
overhead  like  one  huge  sail ;  and  when  there  fell  a  mo- 
mentary lull  on  Aros,  we  could  hear  the  gusts  dismally 
sweeping  in  the  distance.     Over  all  the  lowlands  of  the 

46 


THE   GALE 

Ross,  the  wind  must  have  blown  as  fierce  as  on  the 
open  sea;  and  God  only  knows  the  uproar  that  was 
raging  around  the  head  of  Ben  Kyaw.  Sheets  of  min- 
gled spray  and  rain  were  driven  in  our  faces.  All  round 
the  isle  of  Aros  the  surf,  with  an  incessant,  hammering 
thunder,  beat  upon  the  reefs  and  beaches.  Now  louder 
in  one  place,  now  lower  in  ar.other,  like  the  combina- 
tions of  orchestral  music,  the  constant  mass  of  sound 
was  hardly  varied  for  a  moment.  And  loud  above  all 
this  hurly-burly  I  could  hear  the  changeful  voices  of  the 
Roost  and  the  intermittent  roaring  of  the  Merry  Men. 
At  that  hour,  there  flashed  into  my  mind  the  reason  of 
the  name  that  they  were  called.  For  the  noise  of  them 
seemed  almost  mirthful,  as  it  out-topped  the  other 
noises  of  the  night;  or  if  not  mirthful,  yet  instinct  with 
a  portentous  joviality.  Nay,  and  it  seemed  even  human. 
As  when  savage  men  have  drunk  away  their  reason, 
and,  discarding  speech,  bawl  together  in  their  madness 
by  the  hour;  so,  to  my  ears,  these  deadly  breakers 
shouted  by  Aros  in  the  night. 

Arm  in  arm,  and  staggering  against  the  wind,  Rorie 
and  I  won  every  yard  of  ground  with  conscious  effort. 
Wt  slipped  on  the  wet  sod,  we  fell  together  sprawling 
on  the  rocks.  Bruised,  drenched,  beaten,  and  breath- 
less, it  must  have  taken  us  near  half  an  hour  to  get  from 
the  house  down  to  the  Head  that  overlooks  the  Roost. 
There,  it  seemed,  was  my  uncle's  favourite  observatory. 
Right  in  the  face  of  it,  where  the  cliff  is  highest  and 
most  sheer,  a  hump  of  earth,  like  a  parapet,  makes  a 
place  of  shelter  from  the  common  winds,  where  a  man 
may  sit  in  quiet  and  see  the  tide  and  the  mad  billows 
contending  at  his  feet.     As  he  might  look  down  from 

47 


THE   MERRY    MEN 

the  window  of  a  house  upon  some  street  disturbance, 
so,  from  this  post,  he  looks  down  upon  the  tumbling  of 
the  Merry  Men.  On  such  a  night,  of  course,  he  peers 
upon  a  world  of  blackness,  where  the  waters  wheel  and 
boil,  where  the  waves  joust  together  with  the  noise  of 
an  explosion,  and  the  foam  towers  and  vanishes  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye.  Never  before  had  1  seen  the  Merry 
Men  thus  violent.  The  fury,  height  and  transiency  of 
their  spoutings  was  a  thing  to  be  seen  and  not  re- 
counted. High  over  our  heads  on  the  cliff  rose  their 
white  columns  in  the  darkness ;  and  the  same  instant, 
like  phantoms,  they  were  gone.  Sometimes  three  at  a 
time  would  thus  aspire  and  vanish ;  sometimes  a  gust 
took  them,  and  the  spray  would  fall  about  us,  heavy  as 
a  wave.  And  yet  the  spectacle  was  rather  maddening 
in  its  levity  than  impressive  by  its  force.  Thought  was 
beaten  down  by  the  confounding  uproar;  a  gleeful  va- 
cancy possessed  the  brains  of  men,  a  state  akin  to  mad- 
ness ;  and  1  found  myself  at  times  following  the  dance 
of  the  Merry  Men  as  it  were  a  tune  upon  a  jigging  in- 
strument. 

I  first  caught  sight  of  my  uncle  when  we  were  still 
some  yards  away  in  one  of  the  flying  glimpses  of  twi- 
light that  chequered  the  pitch  darkness  of  the  night.  He 
was  standing  up  behind  the  parapet,  his  head  thrown 
back  and  the  bottle  to  his  mouth.  As  he  put  it  down, 
he  saw  and  recognised  us  with  a  toss  of  one  hand 
fleeringly  above  his  head. 

"  Has  he  been  drinking  ?  "  shouted  I  to  Rorie. 

*'He  will  aye  be  drunk  when  the  wind  blaws,"  re- 
turned Rorie  in  the  same  high  key,  and  it  was  all  that  I 
could  do  to  hear  him. 

48 


THE   GALE 

'Then  —  was  he  so  —  in  February?"  I  inquired. 

Rorie's  "Ay"  was  a  causeof  joy  tome.  The  murder, 
then,  had  not  sprung  in  cold  blood  from  calculation ;  it 
was  an  act  of  madness  no  more  to  be  condemned  than  to 
be  pardoned.  My  uncle  was  a  dangerous  mad-man,  if 
you  will,  but  he  was  not  cruel  and  base  as  I  had  feared. 
Yet  what  a  scene  for  a  carouse,  what  an  incredible  vice, 
was  this  that  the  poor  man  had  chosen !  I  have  always 
thought  drunkenness  a  wild  and  almost  fearful  pleasure, 
rather  demoniacal  than  human;  but  drunkenness,  out 
here  in  the  roaring  blackness,  on  the  edge  of  a  cliff 
above  that  hell  of  waters,  the  man's  head  spinning  like 
the  Roost,  his  foot  tottering  on  the  edge  of  death,  his 
ear  watching  for  the  signs  of  shipwreck,  surely  that,  if  it 
were  credible  in  any  one,  was  morally  impossible  in  a 
man  like  my  uncle,  whose  mind  was  set  upon  a  damna- 
tory creed  and  haunted  by  the  darkest  superstitions. 
Yet  so  it  was ;  and,  as  we  reached  the  bight  of  shelter 
and  could  breathe  again,  I  saw  the  man's  eyes  shining 
in  the  night  with  an  unholy  glimmer. 

"Eh,  Charlie,  man,  it's  grand!"  he  cried.  "See  to 
them ! "  he  continued,  dragging  me  to  the  edge  of  the 
abyss  from  whence  arose  that  deafening  clamour  and 
those  clouds  of  spray;  "see  to  them  dancin',  man!  Is 
that  no  wicked  ?  " 

He  pronounced  the  word  with  gusto,  and  I  thought 
it  suited  with  the  scene. 

"They're  yowlin'  for  thon  schooner,"  he  went  on,  his 
thin,  insane  voice  clearly  audible  in  the  shelter  of  the 
bank,  "an'  she's  comin'  aye  nearer,  aye  nearer,  aye 
nearer  an'  nearer  an'  nearer;  an'  they  ken't,  the  folk 
kens  it,  they  ken  weel  it's  by  wi'  them.     Charlie,  lad, 

49 


THE  MERRY  MEN 

they're  a'  drunk  in  yon  schooner,  a'  dozened  wi'  drink. 
They  were  a'  drunk  in  the  Christ-Anna,  at  the  hinder 
end.  There's  nane  could  droon  at  sea  wantin'  the 
brandy.  Hoot  awa,  what  do  you  ken  }  "  with  a  sudden 
blast  of  anger.  "  I  tell  ye,  it  cannae  be;  they  daurnae 
droon  withoot  it.  Ha'e,"  holding  out  the  bottle,  "tak' 
a  sowp." 

I  was  about  to  refuse,  but  Rorie  touched  me  as  if  in 
warning;  and  indeed  I  had  already  thought  better  of  the 
movement.  I  took  the  bottle,  therefore,  and  not  only 
drank  freely  myself,  but  contrived  to  spill  even  more  as 
I  was  doing  so.  It  was  pure  spirit,  and  almost  strangled 
me  to  swallow.  My  kinsman  did  not  observe  the  loss, 
but,  once  more  throwing  back  his  head,  drained  the  re- 
mainder to  the  dregs.  Then,  with  a  loud  laugh,  he  cast 
the  bottle  forth  among  the  Merry  Men,  who  seemed  to 
leap  up,  shouting,  to  receive  it. 

"  Ha'e,  bairns !  "  he  cried,  **  there's  your  han'sel.  Ye'll 
get  bonnier  nor  that,  or  morning." 

Suddenly,  out  in  the  black  night  before  us,  and  not 
two  hundred  yards  away,  we  heard,  at  a  moment  when 
the  wind  was  silent,  the  clear  note  of  a  human  voice. 
Instantly  the  wind  swept  howling  down  upon  the  Head, 
and  the  Roost  bellowed,  and  churned,  and  danced  with 
a  new  fury.  But  we  had  heard  the  sound,  and  we  knew, 
with  agony,  that  this  was  the  doomed  ship  now  close  on 
ruin,  and  that  what  we  had  heard  was  the  voice  of  her 
master  issuing  his  last  command.  Crouching  together 
on  the  edge,  we  waited,  straining  every  sense,  for  the  in- 
evitable end.  It  was  long,  however,  and  to  us  it  seemed 
like  ages,  ere  the  schooner  suddenly  appeared  for  one 
brief  instant,  relieved  against  a  tower  of  glimmering 

50 


THE   GALE 

foam.  I  still  see  her  reefed  mainsail  flapping  loose,  as 
the  boom  fell  heavily  across  the  deck ;  1  still  see  the  black 
outline  of  the  hull,  and  still  think  1  can  distinguish  the 
figure  of  a  man  stretched  upon  the  tiller.  Yet  the  whole 
sight  we  had  of  her  passed  swifter  than  lightning;  the 
very  wave  that  disclosed  her  fell  burying  her  for  ever; 
the  mingled  cry  of  many  voices  at  the  point  of  death 
rose  and  was  quenched  in  the  roaring  of  the  Merry  Men. 
And  with  that  the  tragedy  was  at  an  end.  The  strong 
ship,  with  all  her  gear,  and  the  lamp  perhaps  still 
burning  in  the  cabin,  the  lives  of  so  many  men,  precious 
surely  to  others,  dear,  at  least,  as  heaven  to  themselves, 
had  all,  in  that  one  moment,  gone  down  into  the  surg- 
ing waters.  They  were  gone  like  a  dream.  And  the 
wind  still  ran  and  shouted,  and  the  senseless  waters  in 
the  Roost  still  leaped  and  tumbled  as  before. 

How  long  we  lay  there  together,  we  three,  speechless 
and  motionless,  is  more  than  I  can  tell,  but  it  must 
have  been  for  long.  At  length,  one  by  one,  and  almost 
mechanically,  we  crawled  back  into  the  shelter  of  the 
bank.  As  I  lay  against  the  parapet,  wholly  wretched 
and  not  entirely  master  of  my  mind,  I  could  hear  my 
kinsman  maundering  to  himself  in  an  altered  and 
melancholy  mood.  Now  he  would  repeat  to  himself 
with  maudlin  iteration,  **Sic  a  fecht  as  they  had  —  sic 
a  sair  fecht  as  they  had,  puir  lads,  puir  lads!"  and 
anon  he  would  bewail  that  "a'  the  gear  was  as  gude's 
tint,"  because  the  ship  had  gone  down  among  the  Merry 
Men  instead  of  stranding  on  the  shore;  and  through- 
out, the  name  —  the  Christ-Anna  —  would  come  and  go 
in  his  divagations,  pronounced  with  shuddering  awe. 
The  storm  all  this  time  was  rapidly  abating.     In  half 

51 


THE  MERRY   MEN 

an  hour  the  wind  had  fallen  to  a  breeze,  and  the  change 
was  accompanied  or  caused  by  a  heavy,  cold,  and 
plumping  rain.  I  must  then  have  fallen  asleep,  and 
when  I  came  to  myself,  drenched,  stiff,  and  unrefreshed, 
day  had  already  broken,  grey,  wet,  discomfortable  day ; 
the  wind  blew  in  faint  and  shifting  capfuls,  the  tide  was 
out,  the  Roost  was  at  its  lowest,  and  only  the  strong 
beating  surf  round  all  the  coasts  of  Aros  remained  to 
witness  of  the  furies  of  the  night. 


CHAPTER  V 

A   MAN   OUT   OF  THE  SEA 

RoRiE  set  out  for  the  house  in  search  of  warmth  and 
breakfast ;  but  my  uncle  was  bent  upon  examining  the 
shores  of  Aros,  and  I  felt  it  a  part  of  duty  to  accom- 
pany him  throughout.  He  was  now  docile  and  quiet, 
but  tremulous  and  weak  in  mind  and  body ;  and  it  was 
with  the  eagerness  of  a  child  that  he  pursued  his  ex- 
ploration. He  climbed  far  down  upon  the  rocks;  on 
the  beaches,  he  pursued  the  retreating  breakers.  The 
merest  broken  plank  or  rag  of  cordage  was  a  treasure 
in  his  eyes  to  be  secured  at  the  peril  of  his  life.  To  see 
him,  with  weak  and  stumbling  footsteps,  expose  him- 
self to  the  pursuit  of  the  surf,  or  the  snares  and  pitfalls 
of  the  weedy  rock,  kept  me  in  a  perpetual  terror.  My 
arm  was  ready  to  support  him,  my  hand  clutched  him 
by  the  skirt,  I  helped  him  to  draw  his  pitiful  discoveries 
beyond  the  reach  of  the  returning  wave ;  a  nurse  accom- 
panying a  child  of  seven  would  have  had  no  different 
experience. 

Yet,  weakened  as  he  was  by  the  reaction  from  his 
madness  of  the  night  before,  the  passions  that  smoul- 
dered in  his  nature  were  those  of  a  strong  man.  His 
terror  of  the  sea,  although  conquered  for  the  moment, 
was  still  undiminished;  had  the  sea  been  a  lake  of  liv- 

53 


THE  MERRY   MEN 

ing  flames,  he  could  not  have  shrunk  more  panically 
from  its  touch ;  and  once,  when  his  foot  slipped  and  he 
plunged  to  the  midleg  into  a  pool  of  water,  the  shriek 
that  came  up  out  of  his  soul  was  like  the  cry  of  death. 
He  sat  still  for  a  while,  panting  like  a  dog,  after  that; 
but  his  desire  for  the  spoils  of  shipwreck  triumphed 
once  more  over  his  fears;  once  more  he  tottered  among 
the  curded  foam ;  once  more  he  crawled  upon  the  rocks 
among  the  bursting  bubbles ;  once  more  his  whole  heart 
seemed  to  be  set  on  driftwood,  fit,  if  it  was  fit  for  any- 
thing, to  throw  upon  the  fire.  Pleased  as  he  was  with 
what  he  found,  he  still  incessantly  grumbled  at  his  ill- 
fortune. 

"  Aros,"  he  said,  ''  is  no  a  place  for  wrecks  ava' —  no 
ava'.  A'  the  years  I've  dwalt  here,  this  ane  maks  the 
second;  and  the  best  o'  the  gear  clean  tint!  " 

"Uncle,"  said  I,  for  we  were  now  on  a  stretch  of 
open  sand,  where  there  was  nothing  to  divert  his  mind, 
* '  I  saw  you  last  night  as  I  never  thought  to  see  you  — 
you  were  drunk." 

*'Na,  na,"  he  said,  *'no  as  bad  as  that.  I  had  been 
drinking,  though.  And  to  tell  ye  the  God's  truth,  it's 
a  thing  I  cannae  mend.  There's  nae  soberer  man  than 
me  in  my  ordnar;  but  when  I  hear  the  wind  blaw  in 
my  lug,  it's  my  belief  that  I  gang  gyte." 

"You  are  a  religious  man,"  I  replied,  "and  this  is 
sin. 

"Ou,"  he  returned,  "if  it  wasnae  sin,  I  dinnae  ken 
that  I  would  care  for't.  Ye  see,  man,  it's  defiance. 
There's  a  sair  spang  o'  the  auld  sin  o'  the  warld  in  yon 
sea;  it's  an  unchristian  business  at  the  best  o't;  an' 
whiles  when  it  gets  up,  an' the  wind  skreighs — the  wind 

54 


A   MAN   OUT  OF  THE  SEA 

an'  her  are  a  kind  of  sib,  I'm  thinkin' —  an'  thae  Merry 
Men,  the  daft  callants,  blawin'  and  lauchin',  and  puir 
souls  in  the  deid  thraws  warstlin'  the  leelang  nicht  wi' 
their  bit  ships  —  weel,  it  comes  ower  me  like  a  glamour. 
I'm  a  deil,  1  ken't.  But  I  think  naething  o'  the  puir 
sailor  lads;  I'm  wi'  the  sea,  I'm  just  like  ane  o'  her  ain 
Merry  Men." 

I  thought  I  should  touch  him  in  a  joint  of  his  har- 
ness. I  turned  me  towards  the  sea ;  the  surf  was  run- 
ning gaily,  wave  after  wave,  with  their  manes  blowing 
behind  them,  riding  one  after  another  up  the  beach, 
towering,  curving,  falling  one  upon  another  on  the 
trampled  sand.  Without,  the  salt  air,  the  scared  gulls, 
the  widespread  army  of  the  sea-chargers,  neighing  to 
each  other,  as  they  gathered  together  to  the  assault  of 
Aros;  and  close  before  us,  that  line  on  the  flat  sands 
that,  with  all  their  number  and  their  fury,  they  might 
never  pass. 

"Thus  far  shalt  thou  go,"  said  I,  "and  no  farther." 
And  then  I  quoted  as  solemnly  as  I  was  able  a  verse 
that  I  had  often  before  fitted  to  the  chorus  of  the 
breakers :  — 

But  yet  the  Lord  that  is  on  high, 

Is  more  of  might  by  far, 
Than  noise  of  many  waters  is, 

As  great  sea  billows  are. 

"Ay,"  said  my  kinsman,  "at  the  hinder  end,  the 
Lord  will  triumph;  I  dinnae  misdoobt  that.  But  here 
on  earth,  even  silly  men-folk  daur  Him  to  His  face.  It 
is  nae  wise;  I  am  nae  sayin'  that  it's  wise;  but  it's  the 
pride  of  the  eye,  and  it's  the  lust  o'  life,  an'  it's  the 
wale  o'  pleesures." 

55 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

I  said  no  mort,  for  we  had  now  begun  to  cross  a  neck 
of  land  that  lay  between  us  and  Sandag;  and  I  with- 
held my  last  appeal  to  the  man's  better  reason  till  we 
should  stand  upon  the  spot  associated  with  his  crime. 
Nor  did  he  pursue  the  subject;  but  he  walked  beside 
me  with  a  firmer  step.  The  call  that  1  had  made  upon 
his  mind  acted  like  a  stimulant,  and  1  could  see  that  he 
had  forgotten  his  search  for  worthless  jetsam,  in  a  pro- 
found, gloomy,  and  yet  stirring  train  of  thought.  In 
three  or  four  minutes  we  had  topped  the  brae  and 
begun  to  go  down  upon  Sandag.  The  wreck  had  been 
roughly  handled  by  the  sea;  the  stem  had  been  spun 
round  and  dragged  a  little  lower  down;  and  perhaps 
the  stern  had  been  forced  a  little  higher,  for  the  two 
parts  now  lay  entirely  separate  on  the  beach.  When 
we  came  to  the  grave  I  stopped,  uncovered  my  head  in 
the  thick  rain,  and,  looking  my  kinsman  in  the  face, 
addressed  him. 

*'  A  man,"  said  I,  **  was  in  God's  providence  suffered 
to  escape  from  mortal  dangers;  he  was  poor,  he  was 
naked,  he  was  wet,  he  was  weary,  he  was  a  stranger; 
he  had  every  claim  upon  the  bowels  of  your  compas- 
sion; it  may  be  that  he  was  the  salt  of  the  earth,  holy, 
helpful,  and  kind;  it  may  be  he  was  a  man  laden  with 
iniquities  to  whom  death  was  the  beginning  of  torment. 
I  ask  you  in  the  sight  of  heaven :  Gordon  Darnaway, 
where  is  the  man  for  whom  Christ  died  ?" 

He  started  visibly  at  the  last  words ;  but  there  came 
no  answer,  and  his  face  expressed  no  feeling  but  a  vague 
alarm. 

"You  were  my  father's  brother,"  1  continued;  *'you 
have  taught  me  to  count  your  house  as  if  it  were  my 

56 


A   MAN   OUT   OF  THE  SEA 

father's  house;  and  we  are  both  sinful  men  walking  be- 
fore the  Lord  among  the  sins  and  dangers  of  this  life. 
It  is  by  our  evil  that  God  leads  us  into  good;  we  sin,  I 
dare  not  say  by  His  temptation,  but  I  must  say  with 
His  consent;  and  to  any  but  the  brutish  man  his  sins 
are  the  beginning  of  wisdom.  God  has  warned  you  by 
this  crime;  He  warns  you  still  by  the  bloody  grave 
between  our  feet;  and  if  there  shall  follow  no  repen- 
tance, no  improvement,  no  return  to  Him,  what  can  we 
look  for  but  the  following  of  some  memorable  judg- 
ment ?  " 

Even  as  I  spoke  the  words,  the  eyes  of  my  uncle  wan- 
dered from  my  face.  A  change  fell  upon  his  looks  that 
cannot  be  described ;  his  features  seemed  to  dwindle  in 
size,  the  colour  faded  from  his  cheeks,  one  hand  rose 
waveringly  and  pointed  over  my  shoulder  into  the  dis- 
tance, and  the  oft-repeated  name  fell  once  more  from 
his  lips:  **The  Christ- Anna !  " 

I  turned ;  and  if  I  was  not  appalled  to  the  same  de- 
gree, as  I  return  thanks  to  Heaven  that  I  had  not  the 
cause,  I  was  still  startled  by  the  sight  that  met  my  eyes. 
The  form  of  a  man  stood  upright  on  the  cabin-hutch  of 
the  wrecked  ship;  his  back  was  towards  us;  he  ap- 
peared to  be  scanning  the  offmg  with  shaded  eyes,  and 
his  figure  was  relieved  to  its  full  height,  which  was 
plainly  very  great,  against  the  sea  and  sky.  I  have  said 
a  thousand  times  that  I  am  not  superstitious ;  but  at  that 
moment,  with  my  mind  running  upon  death  and  sin, 
the  unexplained  appearance  of  a  stranger  on  that  sea- 
girt, solitary  island  filled  me  with  a  surprise  that  bor- 
dered close  on  terror.  It  seemed  scarce  possible  that 
any  human  soul  should  have  come  ashore  alive  in  such 

57 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

a  sea  as  had  raged  last  night  along  the  coasts  of  Aros; 
and  the  only  vessel  within  miles  had  gone  down  before 
our  eyes  among  the  Merry  Men.  I  was  assailed  with 
doubts  that  made  suspense  unbearable,  and,  to  put  the 
matter  to  the  touch  at  once,  stepped  forward  and  hailed 
the  figure  like  a  ship. 

He  turned  about,  and  1  thought  he  started  to  behold 
us.  At  this  my  courage  instantly  revived,  and  I  called 
and  signed  to  him  to  draw  near,  and  he,  on  his  part, 
dropped  immediately  to  the  sands,  and  began  slowly  to 
approach,  with  many  stops  and  hesitations.  At  each 
repeated  mark  of  the  man's  uneasiness  I  grew  the  more 
confident  myself;  and  1  advanced  another  step,  encour- 
aging him  as  I  did  so  with  my  head  and  hand.  It  was 
plain  the  castaway  had  heard  indifferent  accounts  of  our 
island  hospitality ;  and  indeed,  about  this  time,  the  peo- 
ple farther  north  had  a  sorry  reputation. 

**Why,"  I  said,  ''the  man  is  black!" 

And  just  at  that  moment  in  a  voice  that  I  could 
scarce  have  recognised,  my  kinsman  began  swearing 
and  praying  in  a  mingled  stream.  I  looked  at  him ;  he 
had  fallen  on  his  knees,  his  face  was  agonised ;  at  each 
step  of  the  castaway's  the  pitch  of  his  voice  rose,  the 
volubility  of  his  utterance  and  the  fervour  of  his  language 
redoubled.  1  call  it  prayer,  for  it  was  addressed  to  God ; 
but  surely  no  such  ranting  incongruities  were  ever  be- 
fore addressed  to  the  Creator  by  a  creature:  surely  if 
prayer  can  be  a  sin,  this  mad  harangue  was  sinful.  I 
ran  to  my  kinsman,  I  seized  him  by  the  shoulders, 
I  dragged  him  to  his  feet. 

''Silence,  man,"  said  I,  "respect  your  God  in  words, 
if  not  in  action.    Here,  on  the  very  scene  of  your  trans- 

58 


A   MAN   OUT  OF   THE  SEA 

gressions,  He  sends  you  an  occasion  of  atonement.  For- 
ward and  embrace  it ;  welcome  like  a  father  yon  crea- 
ture who  comes  trembling  to  your  mercy." 

With  that,  I  tried  to  force  him  towards  the  black ;  but 
he  felled  me  to  the  ground,  burst  from  my  grasp,  leav- 
ing the  shoulder  of  his  jacket,  and  fled  up  the  hillside 
towards  the  top  of  Aros  like  a  deer.  1  staggered  to  my 
feet  again,  bruised  and  somewhat  stunned;  the  negro 
had  paused  in  surprise,  perhaps  in  terror,  some  halfway 
between  me  and  the  wreck ;  my  uncle  was  already  far 
away,  bounding  from  rock  to  rock;  and  I  thus  found 
myself  torn  for  a  time  between  two  duties.  But  1 
judged,  and  1  pray  Heaven  that  I  judged  rightly,  in 
favour  of  the  poor  wretch  upon  the  sands;  his  misfor- 
tune was  at  least  not  plainly  of  his  own  creation ;  it  was 
one,  besides,  that  I  could  certainly  relieve;  and  I  had 
begun  by  that  time  to  regard  my  uncle  as  an  incurable 
and  dismal  lunatic.  1  advanced  accordingly  towards 
the  black,  who  now  awaited  my  approach  with  folded 
arms,  like  one  prepared  for  either  destiny.  As  1  came 
nearer,  he  reached  forth  his  hand  with  a  great  gesture, 
such  as  I  had  seen  from  the  pulpit,  and  spoke  to  me  in 
something  of  a  pulpit  voice,  but  not  a  word  was  com- 
prehensible. 1  tried  him  first  in  English,  then  in  Gae- 
lic, both  in  vain ;  so  that  it  was  clear  we  must  rely  upon 
the  tongue  of  looks  and  gestures.  Thereupon  I  signed 
to  him  to  follow  me,  which  he  did  readily  and  with  a 
grave  obeisance  like  a  fallen  king;  all  the  while  there 
had  come  no  shade  of  alteration  in  his  face,  neither  of 
anxiety  while  he  was  still  waiting,  nor  of  relief  now  that 
he  was  reassured;  if  he  were  a  slave,  as  I  supposed,  1 
could  not  but  judge  he  must  have  fallen  from  some 

59 


THE  MERRY   MEN 

high  place  in  his  own  country,  and  fallen  as  he  was,  I 
could  not  but  admire  his  bearing.  As  we  passed  the 
grave,  I  paused  and  raised  my  hands  and  eyes  to  heaven 
in  token  of  respect  and  sorrow  for  the  dead;  and  he,  as 
if  in  answer,  bowed  low  and  spread  his  hands  abroad ; 
it  was  a  strange  motion,  but  done  like  a  thing  of  com- 
mon custom ;  and  I  supposed  it  was  ceremonial  in  the 
land  from  which  he  came.  At  the  same  time  he  pointed 
to  my  uncle,  whom  we  could  just  see  perched  upon  a 
knoll,  and  touched  his  head  to  indicate  that  he  was  mad. 
We  took  the  long  way  round  the  shore,  for  I  feared 
to  excite  my  uncle  if  we  struck  across  the  island ;  and 
as  we  walked,  I  had  time  enough  to  mature  the  little 
dramatic  exhibition  by  which  I  hoped  to  satisfy  my 
doubts.  Accordingly,  pausing  on  a  rock,  I  proceeded 
to  imitate  before  the  negro  the  action  of  the  man  whom 
I  had  seen  the  day  before  taking  bearings  with  the  com- 
pass at  Sandag.  He  understood  me  at  once,  and,  taking 
the  imitation  out  of  my  hands,  showed  me  where  the 
boat  was,  pointed  out  seaward  as  if  to  indicate  the  posi- 
tion of  the  schooner,  and  then  down  along  the  edge  of 
the  rock  with  the  words  ''Espirito  Santo,"  strangely 
pronounced,  but  clear  enough  for  recognition.  I  had 
thus  been  right  in  my  conjecture;  the  pretended  his- 
torical inquiry  had  been  but  a  cloak  for  treasure-hunting ; 
the  man  who  had  played  Dr.  Robertson  was  the  same 
as  the  foreigner  who  visited  Grisapol  in  spring,  and  now, 
with  many  others,  lay  dead  under  the  Roost  of  Aros : 
there  had  their  greed  brought  them,  there  should  their 
bones  be  tossed  for  evermore.  In  the  meantime  the 
black  continued  his  imitation  of  the  scene,  now  looking 
up  skyward  as  though  watching  the  approach  of  the 

60 


A   MAN   OUT   OF   THE  SEA 

Storm ;  now,  in  the  character  of  a  seaman,  waving  the 
rest  to  come  aboard ;  now  as  an  officer,  running  along 
the  rock  and  entering  the  boat;  and  anon  bending  over 
imaginary  oars  with  the  air  of  a  hurried  boatman;  but 
all  with  the  same  solemnity  of  manner,  so  that  I  was 
never  even  moved  to  smile.  Lastly,  he  indicated  to  me, 
by  a  pantomime  not  to  be  described  in  words,  how  he 
himself  had  gone  up  to  examine  the  stranded  wreck,  and, 
to  his  grief  and  indignation,  had  been  deserted  by  his 
comrades;  and  thereupon  folded  his  arms  once  more, 
and  stooped  his  head,  like  one  accepting  fate. 

The  mystery  of  his  presence  being  thus  solved  for  me, 
I  explained  to  him  by  means  of  a  sketch  the  fate  of  the 
vessel  and  of  all  aboard  her.  He  showed  no  surprise 
nor  sorrow,  and,  with  a  sudden  lifting  of  his  open  hand, 
seemed  to  dismiss  his  former  friends  or  masters  (which- 
ever they  had  been)  into  God's  pleasure.  Respect  came 
upon  me  and  grew  stronger,  the  more  I  observed  him ; 
I  saw  he  had  a  powerful  mind  and  a  sober  and  severe 
character,  such  as  I  loved  to  commune  with;  and  be- 
fore we  reached  the  house  of  Aros  I  had  almost  forgot- 
ten, and  wholly  forgiven  him,  his  uncanny  colour. 

To  Mary  I  told  all  that  had  passed  without  suppression, 
though  I  own  my  heart  failed  me;  but  I  did  wrong  to 
doubt  her  sense  of  justice. 

'  *  You  did  the  right, "  she  said.  '  *  God's  will  be  done. " 
And  she  set  out  meat  for  us  at  once. 

As  soon  as  I  was  satisfied,  I  bade  Rorie  keep  an  eye 
upon  the  castaway,  who  was  still  eating,  and  set  forth 
again  myself  to  find  my  uncle.  I  had  not  gone  far  before 
I  saw  him  sitting  in  the  same  place,  upon  the  very  top- 
most knoll,  and  seemingly  in  the  same  attitude  as  when 

6i 


THE  MERRY   MEN 

I  had  last  observed  him.  From  that  point,  as  I  have 
said,  the  most  of  Aros  and  the  neighboring  Ross  would 
be  spread  below  him  like  a  map ;  and  it  was  plain  that 
he  kept  a  bright  look-out  in  all  directions,  for  my  head 
had  scarcely  risen  above  the  summit  of  the  first  ascent 
before  he  had  leaped  to  his  feet  and  turned  as  if  to  face 
me.  I  hailed  him  at  once,  as  well  as  I  was  able,  in  the 
same  tones  and  words  as  I  had  often  used  before,  when 
I  had  come  to  summon  him  to  dinner.  He  made  not 
so  much  as  a  movement  in  reply.  I  passed  on  a  little 
farther,  and  again  tried  parley,  with  the  same  result. 
But  when  I  began  a  second  time  to  advance,  his  insane 
fears  blazed  up  again,  and  still  in  dead  silence,  but  with 
incredible  speed,  he  began  to  flee  from  before  me  along 
the  rocky  summit  of  the  hill.  An  hour  before,  he  had 
been  dead  weary,  and  I  had  been  comparatively  active. 
But  now  his  strength  was  recruited  by  the  fervour  of 
insanity,  and  it  would  have  been  vain  for  me  to  dream 
of  pursuit.  Nay,  the  very  attempt,  I  thought,  might 
have  inflamed  his  terrors,  and  thus  increased  the  miseries 
of  our  position.  And  I  had  nothing  left  but  to  turn 
homeward  and  make  my  sad  report  to  Mary. 

She  heard  it,  as  she  had  heard  the  first,  with  a  con- 
cerned composure,  and,  bidding  me  lie  down  and  take 
that  rest  of  which  I  stood  so  much  in  need,  set  forth 
herself  in  quest  of  her  misguided  father.  At  that  age  it 
would  have  been  a  strange  thing  that  put  me  from  either 
meat  or  sleep;  I  slept  long  and  deep;  and  it  was  already 
long  past  noon  before  I  awoke  and  came  downstairs  into 
the  kitchen.  Mary,  Rorie,  and  the  black  castaway  were 
seated  about  the  fire  in  silence;  and  I  could  see  that 
Mary  had  been  weeping.     There  was  cause  enough,  as 

62 


A   MAN   OUT   OF  THE  SEA 

I  soon  learned,  for  tears.  First  she,  and  then  Rorie,  had 
been  forth  to  seek  my  uncle;  each  in  turn  had  found 
him  perched  upon  the  hill-top,  and  from  each  in  turn  he 
had  silently  and  swiftly  fled.  Rorie  had  tried  to  chase 
him,  but  in  vain;  madness  lent  a  new  vigour  to  his 
bounds ;  he  sprang  from  rock  to  rock  over  the  widest 
gullies;  he  scoured  like  the  wind  along  the  hill-tops; 
he  doubled  and  twisted  like  a  hare  before  the  dogs ;  and 
Rorie  at  length  gave  in;  and  the  last  that  he  saw,  my 
uncle  was  seated  as  before  upon  the  crest  of  Aros.  Even 
during  the  hottest  excitement  of  the  chase,  even  when 
the  fleet-footed  servant  had  come,  for  a  moment,  very 
near  to  capture  him,  the  poor  lunatic  had  uttered  not  a 
sound.  He  fled,  and  he  was  silent,  like  a  beast;  and 
this  silence  had  terrified  his  pursuer. 

There  was  something  heart-breaking  in  the  situation. 
How  to  capture  the  madman,  how  to  feed  him  in  the 
meanwhile,  and  what  to  do  with  him  when  he  was 
captured,  were  the  three  difficulties  that  we  had  to 
solve. 

"  The  black,"  said  I,  **  is  the  cause  of  this  attack.  It 
may  even  be  his  presence  in  the  house  that  keeps  my 
uncle  on  the  hill.  We  have  done  the  fair  thing;  he  has 
been  fed  and  warmed  under  this  roof;  now  I  propose 
that  Rorie  put  him  across  the  bay  in  the  coble,  and  take 
him  through  the  Ross  as  far  as  Grisapol." 

In  this  proposal  Mary  heartily  concurred;  and  bidding 
the  black  follow  us,  we  all  three  descended  to  the  pier. 
Certainly,  Heaven's  will  was  declared  against  Gordon 
Darnaway ;  a  thing  had  happened,  never  paralleled  before 
in  Aros;  during  the  storm,  the  coble  had  broken  loose, 
and,  striking  on  the  rough  splinters  of  the  pier,  now  lay 

63 


THE  MERRY   MEN 

in  four  feet  of  water  with  one  side  stove  in.  Three 
days  of  work  at  least  would  be  required  to  make  her 
float.  But  I  was  not  to  be  beaten.  I  led  the  whole 
party  round  to  where  the  gut  was  narrowest,  swam  to 
the  other  side,  and  called  to  the  black  to  follow  me. 
He  signed,  with  the  same  clearness  and  quiet  as  before, 
that  he  knew  not  the  art;  and  there  was  truth  apparent 
in  his  signals,  it  would  have  occurred  to  none  of  us  to 
doubt  his  truth ;  and  that  hope  being  over,  we  must  all 
go  back  even  as  we  came  to  the  house  of  Aros,  the 
negro  walking  in  our  midst  without  embarrassment. 

All  we  could  do  that  day  was  to  make  one  more 
attempt  to  communicate  with  the  unhappy  madman. 
Again  he  was  visible  on  his  perch;  again  he  fled  in 
silence.  But  food  and  a  great  cloak  were  at  least  left 
for  his  comfort;  the  rain,  besides,  had  cleared  away, 
and  the  night  promised  to  be  even  warm.  We  might 
compose  ourselves,  we  thought,  until  the  morrow ;  rest 
was  the  chief  requisite,  that  we  might  be  strengthened 
for  unusual  exertions;  and  as  none  cared  to  talk,  we 
separated  at  an  early  hour. 

1  lay  long  awake,  planning  a  campaign  for  the  mor- 
row. I  was  to  place  the  black  on  the  side  of  Sandag, 
whence  he  should  head  my  uncle  towards  the  house ; 
Rorie  in  the  west,  I  on  the  east,  were  to  complete  the 
cordon,  as  best  we  might.  It  seemed  to  me,  the  more  I 
recalled  the  configuration  of  the  island,  that  it  should  be 
possible,  though  hard,  to  force  him  down  upon  the  low 
ground  along  Aros  Bay;  and  once  there,  even  with  the 
strength  of  his  madness,  ultimate  escape  was  hardly  to 
be  feared.  It  was  on  his  terror  of  the  black  that  I  relied ; 
for  I  made  sure,  however  he  might  run,  it  would  not  be 

64 


A   MAN   OUT  OF  THE  SEA 

in  the  direction  of  the  man  whom  he  supposed  to  have 
returned  from  the  dead,  and  thus  one  point  of  the  com- 
pass at  least  would  be  secure. 

When  at  length  1  fell  asleep,  it  was  to  be  awakened 
shortly  after  by  a  dream  of  wrecks,  black  men,  and  sub- 
marine adventure;  and  I  found  myself  so  shaken  and 
fevered  that  I  arose,  descended  the  stair,  and  stepped 
out  before  the  house.  Within,  Rorie  and  the  black  were 
asleep  together  in  the  kitchen;  outside  was  a  wonderful 
clear  night  of  stars,  with  here  and  there  a  cloud  still 
hanging,  last  stragglers  of  the  tempest.  It  was  near  the 
top  of  the  flood,  and  the  Merry  Men  were  roaring  in 
the  windless  quiet  of  the  night.  Never,  not  even  in  the 
height  of  the  tempest,  had  1  heard  their  song  with  greater 
awe.  Now,  when  the  winds  were  gathered  home, 
when  the  deep  was  dandling  itself  back  into  its  summer 
slumber,  and  when  the  stars  rained  their  gentle  light 
over  land  and  sea,  the  voice  of  these  tide-breakers  was 
still  raised  for  havoc.  They  seemed,  indeed,  to  be  a 
part  of  the  world's  evil  and  the  tragic  side  of  life.  Nor 
were  their  meaningless  vociferations  the  only  sounds 
that  broke  the  silence  of  the  night.  For  I  could  hear, 
now  shrill  and  thrilling  and  now  almost  drowned,  the 
note  of  a  human  voice  that  accompanied  the  uproar  of 
the  Roost.  I  knew  it  for  my  kinsman's;  and  a  great 
fear  fell  upon  me  of  God's  judgments,  and  the  evil  in  the 
world.  1  went  back  again  into  the  darkness  of  the  house 
as  into  a  place  of  shelter,  and  lay  long  upon  my  bed, 
pondering  these  mysteries. 

It  was  late  when  I  again  woke,  and  I  leaped  into  my 
clothes  and  hurried  to  the  kitchen.  No  one  was  there ; 
Rorie  and  the  black  had  both  stealthily  departed  long 

65 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

before;  and  my  heart  stood  still  at  the  discovery.  I 
could  rely  on  Rorie's  heart,  but  I  placed  no  trust  in  his 
discretion.  If  he  had  thus  set  out  without  a  word,  he 
was  plainly  bent  upon  some  service  to  my  uncle.  But 
what  service  could  he  hope  to  render  even  alone,  far 
less  in  the  company  of  the  man  in  whom  my  uncle 
found  his  fears  incarnated  ?  Even  if  I  were  not  already 
too  late  to  prevent  some  deadly  mischief,  it  was  plain  1 
must  delay  no  longer.  With  the  thought  I  was  out  of 
the  house ;  and  often  as  I  have  run  on  the  rough  sides  of 
Aros,  I  never  ran  as  I  did  that  fatal  morning.  I  do  not 
believe  I  put  twelve  minutes  to  the  whole  ascent. 

My  uncle  was  gone  from  his  perch.  The  basket  had 
indeed  been  torn  open  and  the  meat  scattered  on  the 
turf;  but,  as  we  found  afterwards,  no  mouthful  had  been 
tasted ;  and  there  was  not  another  trace  of  human  ex- 
istence in  that  wide  field  of  view.  Day  had  already 
filled  the  clear  heavens ;  the  sun  already  lighted  in  a  rosy 
bloom  upon  the  crest  of  Ben  Kyaw ;  but  all  below  me 
the  rude  knolls  of  Aros  and  the  shield  of  the  sea  lay 
steeped  in  the  clear  darkling  twilight  of  the  dawn. 

''Rorie!"  I  cried;  and  again  '*Rorie!"  My  voice 
died  in  the  silence,  but  there  came  no  answer  back.  If 
there  were  indeed  an  enterprise  afoot  to  catch  my  uncle, 
it  was  plainly  not  in  fleetness  of  foot,  but  in  dexterity  of 
stalking,  that  the  hunters  placed  their  trust.  I  ran  on 
farther,  keeping  the  higher  spurs,  and  looking  right  and 
left,  nor  did  I  pause  again  till  I  was  on  the  mount  above 
Sandag.  I  could  see  the  wreck,  the  uncovered  belt  of 
sand,  the  waves  idly  beating,  the  long  ledge  of  rocks, 
and  on  either  hand  the  tumbled  knolls,  boulders,  and 
gullies  of  the  island.     But  still  no  human  thing. 

66 


A   MAN   OUT  OF  THE  SEA 

At  a  Stride  the  sunshine  fell  on  Aros,  and  the  shadows 
and  colours  leaped  into  being.  Not  half  a  moment  later, 
below  me  to  the  west,  sheep  began  to  scatter  as  in  a 
panic.  There  came  a  cry.  I  saw  my  uncle  running.  I 
saw  the  black  jump  up  in  hot  pursuit;  and  before  I  had 
time  to  understand,  Rorie  also  had  appeared,  calling  di- 
rections in  Gaelic  as  to  a  dog  herding  sheep. 

I  took  to  my  heels  to  interfere,  and  perhaps  1  had 
done  better  to  have  waited  where  I  was,  for  I  was  the 
means  of  cutting  off  the  madman's  last  escape.  There 
was  nothing  before  him  from  that  moment  but  the 
grave,  the  wreck,  and  the  sea  in  Sandag  Bay.  And  yet 
heaven  knows  that  what  I  did  was  for  the  best. 

My  uncle  Gordon  saw  in  what  direction,  horrible  to 
him,  the  chase  was  driving  him.  He  doubled,  darting 
to  the  right  and  left;  but  high  as  the  fever  ran  in  his 
veins,  the  black  was  still  the  swifter.  Turn  where  he 
would,  he  was  still  forestalled,  still  driven  toward  the 
scene  of  his  crime.  Suddenly  he  began  to  shriek  aloud, 
so  that  the  coast  re-echoed ;  and  now  both  I  and  Rorie 
were  calling  on  the  black  to  stop.  But  all  was  vain,  for 
it  was  written  otherwise.  The  pursuer  still  ran,  the 
chase  still  sped  before  him  screaming;  they  avoided 
the  grave,  and  skimmed  close  past  the  timbers  of  the 
wreck;  in  a  breath  they  had  cleared  the  sand;  and  still 
my  kinsman  did  not  pause,  but  dashed  straight  into  the 
surf;  and  the  black,  now  almost  within  reach,  still  fol- 
lowed swiftly  behind  him.  Rorie  and  I  both  stopped, 
for  the  thing  was  now  beyond  the  hands  of  men,  and 
these  were  the  decrees  of  God  that  came  to  pass  before 
our  eyes.  There  was  never  a  sharper  ending.  On  that 
steep  beach  they  were  beyond  their  depth  at  a  bound ; 

67 


THE   MERRY   MEN 

neither  could  swim ;  the  black  rose  once  for  a  moment 
with  a  throttling  cry;  but  the  current  had  them,  racing 
seaward ;  and  if  ever  they  came  up  again,  which  God 
alone  can  tell,  it  would  be  ten  minutes  after,  at  the  far 
end  of  Aros  Roost,  where  the  sea-birds  hover  fishing. 


68 


WILL  O'  THE  MILL 

THE   PLAIN   AND  THE  STARS 

THE  Mill  where  Will  lived  with  his  adopted  parents 
stood  in  a  falling  valley  between  pinewoods  and 
great  mountains.  Above,  hill  after  hill  soared  upwards 
until  they  soared  out  of  the  depth  of  the  hardiest  tim- 
ber, and  stood  naked  against  the  sky.  Some  way  up, 
a  long  grey  village  lay  like  a  seam  or  a  rag  of  vapour 
on  a  wooded  hillside;  and  when  the  wind  was  favour- 
able, the  sound  of  the  church  bells  would  drop  down, 
thin  and  silvery,  to  Will.  Below,  the  valley  grew  ever 
steeper  and  steeper,  and  at  the  same  time  widened  out 
on  either  hand ;  and  from  an  eminence  beside  the  mill 
it  was  possible  to  see  its  whole  length  and  away  beyond 
it  over  a  wide  plain,  where  the  river  turned  and  shone, 
and  moved  on  from  city  to  city  on  its  voyage  towards 
the  sea.  It  chanced  that  over  this  valley  there  lay  a 
pass  into  a  neighbouring  kingdom,  so  that,  quiet  and 
rural  as  it  was,  the  road  that  ran  along  beside  the  river 
was  a  high  thoroughfare  between  two  splendid  and 
powerful  societies.  All  through  the  summer,  traveling- 
carriages  came  crawling  up,  or  went  plunging  briskly 
downwards  past  the  mill ;  and  as  it  happened  that  the 
other  side  was  very  much  easier  of  ascent,  the  path  was 
not  much  frequented,  except  by  people  going  in  one 

69 


WILL  O'   THE   MILL 

direction ;  and  of  all  the  carriages  that  Will  saw  go  by, 
five-sixths  were  plunging  briskly  downwards  and  only 
one-sixth  crawling  up.  Much  more  was  this  the  case 
with  foot-passengers.  All  the  light-footed  tourists,  all 
the  pedlars  laden  with  strange  wares,  were  tending 
downward  like  the  river  that  accompanied  their  path. 
Nor  was  this  all ;  for  when  Will  was  yet  a  child  a  dis- 
astrous war  arose  over  a  great  part  of  the  world.  The 
newspapers  were  full  of  defeats  and  victories,  the  earth 
rang  with  cavalry  hoofs,  and  often  for  days  together  and 
for  miles  around  the  coil  of  battle  terrified  good  people 
from  their  labours  in  the  field.  Of  all  this,  nothing  was 
heard  for  a  long  time  in  the  valley ;  but  at  last  one  of 
the  commanders  pushed  an  army  over  the  pass  by 
forced  marches,  and  for  three  days  horse  and  foot,  can- 
non and  tumbril,  drum  and  standard,  kept  pouring 
downward  past  the  mill.  All  day  the  child  stood  and 
watched  them  on  their  passage  —  the  rhythmical  stride, 
the  pale,  unshaven  faces  tanned  about  the  eyes,  the  dis- 
coloured regimentals  and  the  tattered  flags,  filled  him 
with  a  sense  of  weariness,  pity,  and  wonder;  and  all 
night  long,  after  he  was  in  bed,  he  could  hear  the  can- 
non pounding  and  the  feet  trampling,  and  the  great 
armament  sweeping  onward  and  downward  past  the 
mill.  No  one  in  the  valley  ever  heard  the  fate  of  the 
expedition,  for  they  lay  out  of  the  way  of  gossip  in 
those  troublous  times ;  but  Will  saw  one  thing  plainly, 
that  not  a  man  returned.  Whither  had  they  all  gone  ? 
Whither  went  all  the  tourists  and  pedlars  with  strange 
wares  ?  whither  all  the  brisk  barouches  with  servants 
in  the  dicky  ?  whither  the  water  of  the  stream,  ever 
coursing  downward   and  ever  renewed  from  above  ? 

70 


WILL  O'   THE   MILL 

Even  the  wind  blew  oftener  down  the  valley,  and  carried 
the  dead  leaves  along  with  it  in  the  fall.  It  seemed  like 
a  great  conspiracy  of  things  animate  and  inanimate; 
they  all  went  downward,  fleetly  and  gaily  downward, 
and  only  he,  it  seemed,  remained  behind,  like  a  stock 
upon  the  wayside.  It  sometimes  made  him  glad  when 
he  noticed  how  the  fishes  kept  their  heads  up  stream. 
They,  at  least,  stood  faithfully  by  him,  while  all  else 
were  posting  downward  to  the  unknown  world. 

One  evening  he  asked  the  miller  where  the  river  went. 

*' It  goes  down  the  valley,"  answered  he,  "and  turns 
a  power  of  mills  —  six  score  mills,  they  say,  from  here 
to  Unterdeck  —  and  it  none  the  wearier  after  all.  And 
then  it  goes  out  into  the  lowlands,  and  waters  the 
great  corn  country,  and  runs  through  a  sight  of  fine 
cities  (so  they  say)  where  kings  live  all  alone  in  great 
palaces,  with  a  sentry  walking  up  and  down  before  the 
door.  And  it  goes  under  bridges  with  stone  men  upon 
them,  looking  down  and  smiling  so  curious  at  the 
water,  and  living  folks  leaning  their  elbows  on  the  wall 
and  looking  over  too.  And  then  it  goes  on  and  on, 
and  down  through  marshes  and  sands,  until  at  last  it 
falls  into  the  sea,  where  the  ships  are  that  bring  parrots 
and  tobacco  from  the  Indies.  Ay,  it  has  a  long  trot 
before  it  as  it  goes  singing  over  our  weir,  bless  its 
heart!" 

"  And  what  is  the  sea  ?"  asked  Will. 

"The  sea!"  cried  the  miller.  "Lord  help  us  all,  it 
is  the  greatest  thing  God  made!  That  is  where  all  the 
water  in  the  world  runs  down  into  a  great  salt  lake. 
There  it  lies;  as  flat  as  my  hand  and  as  innocent-like  as 
a  child ;  but  they  do  say  when  the  wind  blows  it  gets 

7« 


WILL  O'  THE   MILL 

Up  into  water-mountains  bigger  than  any  of  ours,  and 
swallows  down  great  ships  bigger  than  our  mill,  and 
makes  such  a  roaring  that  you  can  hear  it  miles  away 
upon  the  land.  There  are  great  fish  in  it  five  times 
bigger  than  a  bull,  and  one  old  serpent  as  long  as  our 
river  and  as  old  as  all  the  world,  with  whiskers  like  a 
man,  and  a  crown  of  silver  on  her  head." 

Will  thought  he  had  never  heard  anything  like  this, 
and  he  kept  on  asking  question  after  question  about  the 
world  that  lay  away  down  the  river,  with  all  its  perils 
and  marvels,  until  the  old  miller  became  quite  inter- 
ested himself,  and  at  last  took  him  by  the  hand  and 
led  him  to  the  hill-top  that  overlooks  the  valley  and  the 
plain.  The  sun  was  near  setting,  and  hung  low  down 
in  a  cloudless  sky.  Everything  was  defined  and  glori- 
fied in  golden  light.  Will  had  never  seen  so  great  an 
expanse  of  country  in  his  life ;  he  stood  and  gazed  with 
all  his  eyes.  He  could  see  the  cities,  and  the  woods 
and  fields,  and  the  bright  curves  of  the  river,  and  far 
away  to  where  the  rim  of  the  plain  trenched  along  the 
shining  heavens.  An  over-mastering  emotion  seized 
upon  the  boy,  soul  and  body ;  his  heart  beat  so  thickly 
that  he  could  not  breathe;  the  scene  swam  before  his 
eyes;  the  sun  seemed  to  wheel  round  and  round,  and 
throw  off,  as  it  turned,  strange  shapes  which  disappeared 
with  the  rapidity  of  thought,  and  were  succeeded  by 
others.  Will  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  burst 
into  a  violent  fit  of  tears ;  and  the  poor  miller,  sadly  dis- 
appointed and  perplexed,  saw  nothing  better  for  it  than  to 
take  him  up  in  his  arms  and  carry  him  home  in  silence. 

From  that  day  forward  Will  was  full  of  new  hopes 
and  longings.     Something  kept  tugging  at  his  heart- 

72 


WILL  O'  THE  MILL 

Strings;  the  running  water  carried  his  desires  along 
with  it  as  he  dreamed  over  its  fleeting  surface  ;  the 
wind,  as  it  ran  over  innumerable  tree-tops,  hailed  him 
with  encouraging  words;  branches  beckoned  down- 
ward ;  the  open  road,  as  it  shouldered  round  the  angles 
and  went  turning  and  vanishing  faster  and  faster  down 
the  valley,  tortured  him  with  its  solicitations.  He  spent 
long  whiles  on  the  eminence,  looking  down  the  river- 
shed  and  abroad  on  the  flat  lowlands,  and  watched  the 
clouds  that  travelled  forth  upon  the  sluggish  wind  and 
trailed  their  purple  shadows  on  the  plain ;  or  he  would 
linger  by  the  wayside,  and  follow  the  carriages  with  his 
eyes  as  they  rattled  downward  by  the  river.  It  did  not 
matter  what  it  was;  everything  that  went  that  way, 
were  it  cloud  or  carriage,  bird  or  brown  water  in  the 
stream,  he  felt  his  heart  flow  out  after  it  in  an  ecstasy 
of  longing. 

We  are  told  by  men  of  science  that  all  the  ventures  of 
mariners  on  the  sea,  all  that  counter-marching  of  tribes 
and  races  that  confounds  old  history  with  its  dust  and 
rumour,  sprang  from  nothing  more  abstruse  than  the 
laws  of  supply  and  demand,  and  a  certain  natural  in- 
stinct for  cheap  rations.  To  any  one  thinking  deeply, 
this  will  seem  a  dull  and  pitiful  explanation.  The 
tribes  that  came  swarming  out  of  the  North  and  East, 
if  they  were  indeed  pressed  onward  from  behind  by 
others,  were  drawn  at  the  same  time  by  the  magnetic 
influence  of  the  South  and  West.  The  fame  of  other 
lands  had  reached  them ;  the  name  of  the  eternal  city 
rang  in  their  ears;  they  were  not  colonists,  but  pil- 
grims; they  travelled  towards  wine  and  gold  and  sun- 
shine, but  their  hearts  were  set  on  something  higher. 

7? 


WILL  O'  THE   MILL 

That  divine  unrest,  that  old  stinging  trouble  of  human- 
ity that  makes  all  high  achievements  and  all  miserable 
failure,  the  same  that  spread  wings  with  Icarus,  the 
same  that  sent  Columbus  into  the  desolate  Atlantic,  in- 
spired and  supported  these  barbarians  on  their  perilous 
march.  There  is  one  legend  which  profoundly  repre- 
sents their  spirit,  of  how  a  flying  party  of  these  wan- 
derers encountered  a  very  old  man  shod  with  iron.  The 
old  man  asked  them  whither  they  were  going ;  and  they 
answered  with  one  voice :  ''To  the  Eternal  City !  "  He 
looked  upon  them  gravely.  "I  have  sought  it,"  he 
said,  ''over  the  most  part  of  the  world.  Three  such 
pairs  as  1  now  carry  on  my  feet  have  I  worn  out  upon 
this  pilgrimage,  and  now  the  fourth  is  growing  slender 
underneath  my  steps.  And  all  this  while  1  have  not 
found  the  city. "  And  he  turned  and  went  his  own  way 
alone,  leaving  them  astonished. 

And  yet  this  would  scarcely  parallel  the  intensity  of 
Will's  feeling  for  the  plain.  If  he  could  only  go  far 
enough  out  there,  he  felt  as  if  his  eyesight  would  be 
purged  and  clarified,  as  if  his  hearing  would  grow  more 
delicate,  and  his  very  breath  would  come  and  go  with 
luxury.  He  was  transplanted  and  withering  where  he 
was ;  he  lay  in  a  strange  country  and  was  sick  for  home. 
Bit  by  bit,  he  pieced  together  broken  notions  of  the 
world  below:  of  the  river,  ever  moving  and  growing 
until  it  sailed  forth  into  the  majestic  ocean ;  of  the  cities, 
full  of  brisk  and  beautiful  people,  playing  fountains, 
bands  of  music  and  marble  palaces,  and  lighted  up  at 
night  from  end  to  end  with  artificial  stars  of  gold;  of 
the  great  churches,  wise  universities,  brave  armies,  and 
untold  money  lying  stored  in  vaults ;  of  the  high-flying 

74 


WILL  O'  THE  MILL 

vice  that  moved  in  the  sunshine,  and  the  stealth  and 
swiftness  of  midnight  murder.  I  have  said  he  was  sick 
as  if  for  home :  the  figure  halts.  He  was  like  some  one 
lying  in  twilit,  formless  pre-existence,  and  stretching 
out  his  hands  lovingly  towards  many-coloured,  many- 
sounding  life.  It  was  no  wonder  he  was  unhappy,  he 
would  go  and  tell  the  fish :  they  were  made  for  their 
life,  wished  for  no  more  than  worms  and  running  water, 
and  a  hole  below  a  falling  bank ;  but  he  was  differently 
designed,  full  of  desires  and  aspirations,  itching  at  the 
fingers,  lusting  with  the  eyes,  whom  the  whole  varie- 
gated world  could  not  satisfy  with  aspects.  The  true 
life,  the  true  bright  sunshine,  lay  .far  out  upon  the  plain. 
And  O!  to  see  this  sunlight  once  before  he  died!  to 
move  with  a  jocund  spirit  in  a  golden  land!  to  hear  the 
trained  singers  and  sweet  church  bells,  and  see  the  holi- 
day gardens!  ''And  Ofish!"  he  would  cry,  **if  you 
would  only  turn  your  noses  down  stream,  you  could 
swim  so  easily  into  the  fabled  waters  and  see  the  vast 
ships  passing  over  your  head  like  clouds,  and  hear  the 
great  water-hills  making  music  over  you  all  day  long !  " 
But  the  fish  kept  looking  patiently  in  their  own  direc- 
tion, until  Will  hardly  knew  whether  to  laugh  or  cry. 

Hitherto  the  traffic  on  the  road  had  passed  by  Will, 
like  something  seen  in  a  picture:  he  had  perhaps  ex- 
changed salutations  with  a  tourist,  or  caught  sight  of  an 
old  gentleman  in  a  travelling-cap  at  a  carriage  window; 
but  for  the  most  part  it  had  been  a  mere  symbol,  which 
he  contemplated  from  apart  and  with  something  of  a 
superstitious  feeling.  A  time  came  at  last  when  this 
was  to  be  changed.  The  miller,  who  was  a  greedy 
man  in  his  way,  and  never  forewent  an  opportunity  of 

75 


WILL  O'   THE   MILL 

honest  profit,  turned  the  mill-house  into  a  little  wayside 
inn,  and,  several  pieces  of  good  fortune  falling  in  oppor- 
tunely, built  stables  and  got  the  position  of  post  master 
on  the  road.  It  now  became  Will's  duty  to  wait  upon 
people,  as  they  sat  to  break  their  fasts  in  the  little  arbour 
at  the  top  of  the  mill  garden ;  and  you  may  be  sure  that 
he  kept  his  ears  open,  and  learned  many  new  things 
about  the  outside  world  as  he  brought  the  omelette  or 
the  wine.  Nay,  he  would  often  get  into  conversation 
with  single  guests,  and  by  adroit  questions  and  polite 
attention,  not  only  gratify  his  own  curiosity,  but  win 
the  goodwill  of  the  travellers.  Many  complimented  the 
old  couple  on  their  serving-boy ;  and  a  professor  was 
eager  to  take  him  away  with  him,  and  have  him  prop- 
erly educated  in  the  plain.  The  miller  and  his  wife 
were  mightily  astonished  and  even  more  pleased.  They 
thought  it  a  very  good  thing  that  they  should  have 
opened  their  inn.  '*  You  see,"  the  old  man  would  re- 
mark, *'he  has  a  kind  of  talent  for  a  publican;  he  never 
would  have  made  anything  else ! "  And  so  life  wagged 
on  in  the  valley,  with  high  satisfaction  to  all  concerned 
but  Will.  Every  carriage  that  left  the  inn-door  seemed 
to  take  a  part  of  him  away  with  it;  and  when  people 
jestingly  offered  him  a  lift,  he  could  with  difficulty 
command  his  emotion.  Night  after  night  he  would 
dream  that  he  was  awakened  by  flustered  servants, 
and  that  a  splendid  equipage  waited  at  the  door  to  carry 
him  down  into  the  plain ;  night  after  night ;  until  the 
dream,  which  had  seemed  all  jollity  to  him  at  first,  began 
to  take  on  a  colour  of  gravity,  and  the  nocturnal  sum- 
mons and  waiting  equipage  occupied  a  place  in  his 
mind  as  something  to  be  both  feared  and  hoped  for. 

76 


WILL  O'   THE   MILL 

One  day,  when  Will  was  about  sixteen,  a  fat  young 
man  arrived  at  sunset  to  pass  the  night.  He  was  a  con- 
tented-looking fellow,  with  a  jolly  eye,  and  carried  a 
knapsack.  While  dinner  was  preparing,  he  sat  in  the 
arbour  to  read  a  book ;  but  as  soon  as  he  had  begun  to 
observe  Will,  the  book  was  laid  aside ;  he  was  plainly 
one  of  those  who  prefer  living  people  to  people  made 
of  ink  and  paper.  Will,  on  his  part,  although  he  had 
not  been  much  interested  in  the  stranger  at  first  sight, 
soon  began  to  take  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  in  his  talk, 
which  was  full  of  good  nature  and  good  sense,  and  at 
last  conceived  a  great  respect  for  his  character  and  wis- 
dom. They  sat  far  into  the  night;  and  about  two  in 
the  morning  Will  opened  his  heart  to  the  young  man, 
and  told  him  how  he  longed  to  leave  the  valley  and  what 
bright  hopes  he  had  connected  with  the  cities  of  the  plain. 
The  young  man  whistled,  and  then  broke  into  a  smile. 

"My  young  friend,"  he  remarked,  "you  are  a  very 
curious  little  fellow  to  be  sure,  and  wish  a  great  many 
things  which  you  will  never  get.  Why,  you  would  feel 
quite  ashamed  if  you  knew  how  the  little  fellows  in  these 
fairy  cities  of  yours  are  all  after  the  same  sort  of  non- 
sense, and  keep  breaking  their  hearts  to  get  up  into  the 
mountains.  And  let  me  tell  you,  those  who  go  down 
into  the  plains  are  a  very  short  while  there  before  they 
wish  themselves  heartily  back  again.  The  air  is  not  so 
light  nor  so  pure ;  nor  is  the  sun  any  brighter.  As  for 
the  beautiful  men  and  women,  you  would  see  many  of 
them  in  rags  and  many  of  them  deformed  with  horrible 
disorders ;  and  a  city  is  so  hard  a  place  for  people  who 
are  poor  and  sensitive  that  many  choose  to  die  by  their 
own  hand." 

77 


WILL  O'   THE  MILL 

"You  must  think  me  very  simple,"  answered  Will. 
''Although  I  have  never  been  out  of  this  valley,  believe 
me,  1  have  used  my  eyes.  I  know  how  one  thing  lives 
on  another;  for  instance,  how  the  fish  hangs  in  the 
eddy  to  catch  his  fellows ;  and  the  shepherd,  who  makes 
so  pretty  a  picture  carrying  home  the  lamb,  is  only  car- 
rying it  home  for  dinner.  1  do  not  expect  to  find  all 
things  right  in  your  cities.  That  is  not  what  troubles 
me ;  it  might  have  been  that  once  upon  a  time ;  but  al- 
though I  live  here  always,  I  have  asked  many  questions 
and  learned  a  great  deal  in  these  last  years,  and  cer- 
tainly enough  to  cure  me  of  my  old  fancies.  But  you 
would  not  have  me  die  like  a  dog  and  not  see  all  that  is 
to  be  seen,  and  do  all  that  a  man  can  do,  let  it  be  good 
or  evil  ?  you  would  not  have  me  spend  all  my  days  be- 
tween this  road  here  and  the  river,  and  no't  so  much  as 
make  a  motion  to  be  up  and  live  my  life  ? —  I  would 
rather  die  out  of  hand,"  he  cried,  "than  linger  on  as  I 
am  doing." 

"Thousands  of  people,"  said  the  young  man,  "live 
and  die  like  you,  and  are  none  the  less  happy." 

"Ah!"  said  Will,  "if  there  are  thousands  who  would 
like,  why  should  not  one  of  them  have  my  place.?" 

It  was  quite  dark;  there  was  a  hanging  lamp  in  the 
arbour  which  lit  up  the  table  and  the  faces  of  the 
speakers;  and  along  the  arch,  the  leaves  upon  the  trellis 
stood  out  illuminated  against  the  night  sky,  a  pattern 
of  transparent  green  upon  a  dusky  purple.  The  fat 
young  man  rose,  and,  taking  Will  by  the  arm,  led  him 
out  under  the  open  heavens. 

"Did  you  ever  look  at  the  stars .'^"  he  asked,  point- 
ing upwards. 

78 


WILL  O'  THE   MILL 

'* Often  and  often,"  answered  Will. 

*' And  do  you  know  what  they  are  ?" 

"I  have  fancied  many  things." 

"They  are  worlds  like  ours,"  said  the  young  man. 
"Some  of  them  less;  many  of  them  a  million  times 
greater;  and  some  of  the  least  sparkles  that  you  see  are 
not  only  worlds,  but  whole  clusters  of  worlds  turning 
about  each  other  in  the  midst  of  space.  We  do  not 
know  what  there  may  be  in  any  of  them ;  perhaps  the 
answer  to  all  our  difficulties  or  the  cure  of  all  our  suffer- 
ings :  and  yet  we  can  never  reach  them ;  not  all  the  skill 
of  the  craftiest  of  men  can  fit  out  a  ship  for  the  nearest 
of  these  our  neighbours,  nor  would  the  life  of  the  most 
aged  suffice  for  such  a  journey.  When  a  great  battle 
has  been  lost  or  a  dear  friend  is  dead,  when  we  are 
hipped  or  in  high  spirits,  there  they  are  unweariedly 
shining  overhead.  We  may  stand  down  here,  a  whole 
army  of  us  together,  and  shout  until  we  break  our 
hearts,  and  not  a  whisper  reaches  them.  We  may  climb 
the  highest  mountain,  and  we  are  no  nearer  them.  All 
we  can  do  is  to  stand  down  here  in  the  garden  and 
take  off  our  hats ;  the  starshine  lights  upon  our  heads, 
and  where  mine  is  a  little  bald,  I  dare  say  you  can  see 
it  glisten  in  the  darkness.  The  mountain  and  the  mouse. 
That  is  like  to  be  all  we  shall  ever  have  to  do  with  Arc- 
turus  or  Aldebaran.  Can  you  apply  a  parable?"  he 
added,  laying  his  hand  upon  Will's  shoulder.  "It  is 
not  the  same  thing  as  a  reason,  but  usually  vastly  more 
convincing." 

Will  hung  his  head  a  little,  and  then  raised  it  once 
more  to  heaven.  The  stars  seemed  to  expand  and  emit 
a  sharper  brilliancy;  and  as  he  kept  turning  his  eyes 

79 


WILL  O'   THE   MILL 

higher  and  higher,  they  seemed  to  increase  in  multitude 
under  his  gaze. 

*'l  see,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  young  man.  "We 
are  in  a  rat-trap." 

"Something  of  that  size.  Did  you  ever  see  a  squir- 
rel turning  in  a  cage  ?  and  another  squirrel  sitting  philo- 
sophically over  his  nuts  ?  I  needn't  ask  you  which  of 
them  looked  more  of  a  fool." 


THE   parson's   MARJORY 

After  some  years  the  old  people  died,  both  in  one 
winter,  very  carefully  tended  by  their  adopted  son,  and 
very  quietly  mourned  when  they  were  gone.  People 
who  had  heard  of  his  roving  fancies  supposed  he  would 
hasten  to  sell  the  property,  and  go  down  the  river  to 
push  his  fortunes.  But  there  was  never  any  sign  of 
such  an  intention  on  the  part  of  Will.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  had  the  inn  set  on  a  better  footing,  and  hired 
a  couple  of  servants  to  assist  him  in  carrying  it  on ;  and 
there  he  settled  down,  a  kind,  talkative,  inscrutable 
young  man,  six  feet  three  in  his  stockings,  with  an 
iron  constitution  and  a  friendly  voice.  He  soon  began 
to  take  rank  in  the  district  as  a  bit  of  an  oddity :  it  was 
not  much  to  be  wondered  at  from  the  first,  for  he  was 
always  full  of  notions,  and  kept  calling  the  plainest 
common-sense  in  question;  but  what  most  raised  the 
report  upon  him  was  the  odd  circumstance  of  his  court- 
ship with  the  parson's  Marjory. 

The  parson's  Marjory  was  a  lass  about  nineteen,  when 
Will  would  be  about  thirty;  well  enough  looking,  and 
much  better  educated  than  any  other  girl  in  that  part 

80 


WILL  O'  THE  MILL 

of  the  country,  as  became  her  parentage.  She  held  her 
head  very  high,  and  had  already  refused  several  offers  of 
marriage  with  a  grand  air,  which  had  got  her  hard  names 
among  the  neighbours.  For  all  that  she  was  a  good  girl, 
and  one  that  would  have  made  any  man  well  contented. 
Will  had  never  seen  much  of  her;  for  although  the 
church  and  parsonage  were  only  two  miles  from  his 
own  door,  he  was  never  known  to  go  there  but  on 
Sundays.  It  chanced,  however,  that  the  parsonage  fell 
into  disrepair,  and  had  to  be  dismantled ;  and  the  parson 
and  his  daughter  took  lodgings  for  a  month  or  so,  on 
very  much  reduced  terms,  at  Will's  inn.  Now,  what 
with  the  inn,  and  the  mill,  and  the  old  miller's  savings, 
our  friend  was  a  man  of  substance ;  and  besides  that,  he 
had  a  name  for  good  temper  and  shrewdness,  which 
make  a  capital  portion  in  marriage ;  and  so  it  was  cur- 
rently gossiped,  among  their  ill-wishers,  that  the  parson 
and  his  daughter  had  not  chosen  their  temporary  lodg- 
ing with  their  eyes  shut.  Will  was  about  the  last  man 
in  the  world  to  be  cajoled  or  frightened  into  marriage. 
You  had  only  to  look  into  his  eyes,  limpid  and  still  like 
pools  of  water,  and  yet  with  a  sort  of  clear  light  that 
seemed  to  come  from  within,  and  you  would  understand 
at  once  that  here  was  one  who  knew  his  own  mind,  and 
would  stand  to  it  immovably.  Marjory  herself  was  no 
weakling  by  her  looks,  with  strong,  steady  eyes  and  a 
resolute  and  quiet  bearing.  It  might  be  a  question 
whether  she  was  not  Will's  match  in  steadfastness,  after 
all,  or  which  of  them  would  rule  the  roast  in  marriage. 
But  Marjory  had  never  given  it  a  thought,  and  accom- 
panied her  father  with  the  most  unshaken  innocence 
and  unconcern. 

8i 


WILL  O'   THE   MILL 

The  season  was  still  so  early  that  Will's  customers 
were  few  and  far  between ;  but  the  lilacs  were  already 
flowering,  and  the  weather  was  so  mild  that  the  party 
took  dinner  under  the  trellis,  with  the  noise  of  the 
river  in  their  ears  and  the  woods  ringing  about  them 
with  the  songs  of  birds.  Will  soon  began  to  take  a  par- 
ticular pleasure  in  these  dinners.  The  parson  was  rather 
a  dull  companion,  with  a  habit  of  dozing  at  table;  but 
nothing  rude  or  cruel  ever  fell  from  his  lips.  And  as 
for  the  parson's  daughter,  she  suited  her  surroundings 
with  the  best  grace  imaginable ;  and  whatever  she  said 
seemed  so  pat  and  pretty  that  Will  conceived  a  great 
idea  of  her  talents.  He  could  see  her  face,  as  she  leaned 
forward,  against  a  background  of  rising  pinewoods ;  her 
eyes  shone  peaceably ;  the  light  lay  around  her  hair  like 
a  kerchief;  something  that  was  hardly  a  smile  rippled 
her  pale  cheeks,  and  Will  could  not  contain  himself  from 
gazing  on  her  in  an  agreeable  dismay.  She  looked,  even 
in  her  quietest  moments,  so  complete  in  herself,  and  so 
quick  with  life  down  to  her  finger  tips  and  the  very  skirts 
of  her  dress,  that  the  remainder  of  created  things  became 
no  more  than  a  blot  by  comparison ;  and  if  Will  glanced 
away  from  her  to  her  surroundings,  the  trees  looked  in- 
animate and  senseless,  the  clouds  hung  in  heaven  like 
dead  things,  and  even  the  mountain  tops  were  disen- 
chanted. The  whole  valley  could  not  compare  in  looks 
with  this  one  girl. 

Will  was  always  observant  in  the  society  of  his  fellow- 
creatures  ;  but  his  observation  became  almost  painfully 
eager  in  the  case  of  Marjory.  He  listened  to  all  she  ut- 
tered, and  read  her  eyes,  at  the  same  time,  for  the  un- 
spoken commentary.     Many  kind,  simple,  and  sincere 

82 


WILL  O'  THE  MILL 

Speeches  found  an  echo  in  his  heart.  He  became  con- 
scious of  a  soul  beautifully  poised  upon  itself,  nothing 
doubting,  nothing  desiring,  clothed  in  peace.  It  was 
not  possible  to  separate  her  thoughts  from  her  appear- 
ance. The  turn  of  her  wrist,  the  still  sound  of  her  voice, 
the  light  in  her  eyes,  the  lines  of  her  body,  fell  in  tune 
with  her  grave  and  gentle  words,  like  the  accompani- 
ment that  sustains  and  harmonises  the  voice  of  the  singer. 
Her  influence  was  one  thing,  not  to  be  divided  or  dis- 
cussed, only  to  be  felt  with  gratitude  and  joy.  To  Will, 
her  presence  recalled  something  of  his  childhood,  and 
the  thought  of  her  took  its  place  in  his  mind  beside  that 
of  dawn,  of  running  water,  and  of  the  earliest  violets 
and  lilacs.  It  is  the  property  of  things  seen  for  the  first 
time,  or  for  the  first  time  after  long,  like  the  flowers  in 
spring,  to  reawaken  in  us  the  sharp  edge  of  sense  and 
that  impression  of  mystic  strangeness  which  otherwise 
passes  out  of  life  with  the  coming  of  years ;  but  the  sight 
of  a  loved  face  is  what  renews  a  man's  character  from 
the  fountain  upwards. 

One  day  after  dinner  Will  took  a  stroll  among  the 
firs ;  a  grave  beatitude  possessed  him  from  top  to  toe, 
and  he  kept  smiling  to  himself  and  the  landscape  as  he 
went.  The  river  ran  between  the  stepping-stones  with 
a  pretty  wimple;  a  bird  sang  loudly  in  the  wood;  the 
hill-tops  looked  immeasurably  high,  and  as  he  glanced 
at  them  from  time  to  time  seemed  to  contemplate  his 
movements  with  a  beneficent  but  awful  curiosity.  His 
way  took  him  to  the  eminence  which  overlooked  the 
plain ;  and  there  he  sat  down  upon  a  stone,  and  fell  into 
deep  and  pleasant  thought.  The  plain  lay  abroad  with 
its  cities  and  silver  river;  everything  was  asleep,  except 

83 


WILL  O'   THE  MILL 

a  great  eddy  of  birds  which  kept  rising  and  falling  and 
going  round  and  round  in  the  blue  air.  He  repeated 
Marjory's  name  aloud,  and  the  sound  of  it  gratified  his 
ear.  He  shut  his  eyes,  and  her  image  sprang  up  before 
him,  quietly  luminous  and  attended  with  good  thoughts. 
The  river  might  run  for  ever;  the  birds  fly  higher  and 
higher  till  they  touched  the  stars.  He  saw  it  was  empty 
bustle  after  all;  for  here,  without  stirring  a  foot,  waiting 
patiently  in  his  own  narrow  valley,  he  also  had  attained 
the  better  sunlight. 

The  next  day  Will  made  a  sort  of  declaration  across 
the  dinner-table,  while  the  parson  was  filling  his  pipe. 

"Miss  Marjory,"  he  said,  "I  never  knew  any  one  I 
liked  so  well  as  you.  I  am  mostly  a  cold,  unkindly  sort 
of  man ;  not  from  want  of  heart,  but  out  of  strangeness 
in  my  way  of  thinking;  and  people  seem  far  away  from 
me.  'Tis  as  if  there  were  a  circle  round  me,  which  kept 
every  one  out  but  you ;  I  can  hear  the  others  talking  and 
laughing ;  but  you  come  quite  close.  Maybe,  this  is  dis- 
agreeable to  you.^"  he  asked. 

Marjory  made  no  answer. 

"  Speak  up,  girl,"  said  the  parson. 

"Nay,  now,"  returned  Will,  "I  wouldn't  press  her, 
parson.  I  feel  tongue-tied  myself,  who  am  not  used  to 
it;  and  she's  a  woman,  and  little  more  than  a  child, 
when  all  is  said.  But  for  my  part,  as  far  as  I  can  un- 
derstand what  people  mean  by  it,  I  fancy  I  must  be 
what  they  call  in  love.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  held  as 
committing  myself;  for  I  may  be  wrong;  but  that  is 
how  I  believe  things  are  with  me.  And  if  Miss  Mar- 
jory should  feel  any  otherwise  on  her  part,  mayhap 
she  would  be  so  kind  as  shake  her  head." 

84 


WILL  O    THE   MILL 

Marjory  was  silent,  and  gave  no  sign  that  she  had 
heard. 

"  How  is  that,  parson  ?"  asked  Will. 

*'The  girl  must  speak,"  replied  the  parson,  laying 
down  his  pipe.  "  Here's  our  neighbour  who  says  he 
loves  you,  Madge.     Do  you  love  him,  ay  or  no?" 

"I  think  I  do,"  said  Marjory,  faintly. 

"Well  then,  that's  all  that  could  be  wished!"  cried 
Will,  heartily.  And  he  took  her  hand  across  the  table, 
and  held  it  a  moment  in  both  of  his  with  great  satisfac- 
tion. 

*' You  must  marry,"  observed  the  parson,  replacing 
his  pipe  in  his  mouth. 

*Ms  that  the  right  thing  to  do,  think  you?"  de- 
manded Will. 

"  It  is  indispensable,"  said  the  parson. 

**  Very  well,"  replied  the  wooer. 

Two  or  three  days  passed  away  with  great  delight  to 
Will,  although  a  bystander  might  scarce  have  found  it 
out.  He  continued  to  take  his  meals  opposite  Marjory, 
and  to  talk  with  her  and  gaze  upon  her  in  her  father's 
presence;  but  he  made  no  attempt  to  see  her  alone,  nor 
in  any  other  way  changed  his  conduct  towards  her  from 
what  it  had  been  since  the  beginning.  Perhaps  the 
girl  was  a  little  disappointed,  and  perhaps  not  unjustly; 
and  yet  if  it  had  been  enough  to  be  always  in  the 
thoughts  of  another  person,  and  so  pervade  and  alter 
his  whole  life,  she  might  have  been  thoroughly  con- 
tented. For  she  was  never  out  of  Will's  mind  for  an 
instant.  He  sat  over  the  stream,  and  watched  the  dust 
of  the  eddy,  and  the  poised  fish,  and  straining  weeds; 
he  wandered  out  alone  into  the  purple  even,  with  all 

85 


WILL  O'   THE   MILL 

the  blackbirds  piping  round  him  in  the  wood ;  he  rose 
early  in  the  morning,  and  saw  the  sky  turn  from  grey 
to  gold,  and  the  light  leap  upon  the  hill-tops;  and  all 
the  while  he  kept  wondering  if  he  had  never  seen  such 
things  before,  or  how  it  was  that  they  should  look  so 
different  now.  The  sound  of  his  own  mill-wheel,  or 
of  the  wind  among  the  trees,  confounded  and  charmed 
his  heart.  The  most  enchanting  thoughts  presented 
themselves  unbidden  in  his  mind.  He  was  so  happy 
that  he  could  not  sleep  at  night,  and  so  restless  that  he 
could  hardly  sit  still  out  of  her  company.  And  yet  it 
seemed  as  if  he  avoided  her  rather  than  sought  her  out. 

One  day,  as  he  was  coming  home  from  a  ramble,  Will 
found  Marjory  in  the  garden  picking  flowers,  and  as  he 
came  up  with  her,  slackened  his  pace  and  continued 
walking  by  her  side. 

*' You  like  flowers  .?"  he  said. 

*  *  Indeed  I  love  them  dearly, "  she  replied.    ' '  Do  you  ?  " 

**  Why,  no,"  said  he,  "not  so  much.  They  are  a  very 
small  affair,  when  all  is  done.  I  can  fancy  people  caring 
for  them  greatly,  but  not  doing  as  you  are  just  now." 

**  How  ?"  she  asked,  pausing  and  looking  up  at  him. 

' '  Plucking  them, "  said  he.  * '  They  are  a  deal  better  off 
where  they  are,  and  look  a  deal  prettier,  if  you  go  to  that. " 

'*!  wish  to  have  them  for  my  own,"  she  answered, 
''to  carry  them  near  my  heart,  and  keep  them  in  my 
room.  They  tempt  me  when  they  grow  here;  they 
seem  to  say,  *  Come  and  do  something  with  us ; '  but 
once  I  have  cut  them  and  put  them  by,  the  charm  is 
laid,  and  I  can  look  at  them  with  quite  an  easy  heart." 

**  You  wish  to  possess  them,"  replied  Will,  ''in  order 
to  think  no  more  about  them.     It's  a  bit  like  killing  the 

86 


WILL  O'   THE  MILL 

goose  with  the  golden  eggs.  It's  a  bit  like  what  I 
wished  to  do  when  I  was  a  boy.  Because  I  had  a 
fancy  for  looking  out  over  the  plain,  I  wished  to  go 
down  there  —  where  I  could  n't  look  out  over  it  any 
longer.  Was  not  that  fine  reasoning  ?  Dear,  dear,  if 
they  only  thought  of  it,  all  the  world  would  do  like  me; 
and  you  would  let  your  flowers  alone,  just  as  I  stay  up 
here  in  the  mountains."  Suddenly  he  broke  off  sharp. 
"  By  the  Lord!  "  he  cried.  And  when  she  asked  him 
what  was  wrong,  he  turned  the  question  off,  and  walked 
away  into  the  house  with  rather  a  humorous  expression 
of  face. 

He  was  silent  at  table;  and  after  the  night  had  fallen 
and  the  stars  had  come  out  overhead,  he  walked  up  and 
down  for  hours  in  the  courtyard  and  garden  with  an 
uneven  pace.  There  was  still  a  light  in  the  window  of 
Marjory's  room :  one  little  oblong  patch  of  orange  in  a 
world  of  dark  blue  hills  and  silver  starlight.  Will's 
mind  ran  a  great  deal  on  the  window;  but  his  thoughts 
were  not  very  lover-like.  "There  she  is  in  her  room," 
he  thought,  *  *  and  there  are  the  stars  overhead : —  a  bless- 
ing upon  both ! "  Both  were  good  influences  in  his  life ; 
both  soothed  and  braced  him  in  his  profound  content- 
ment with  the  world.  And  what  more  should  he  desire 
with  either?  The  fat  young  man  and  his  councils  were 
so  present  to  his  mind,  that  he  threw  back  his  head,  and, 
putting  his  hands  before  his  mouth,  shouted  aloud  to 
the  populous  heavens.  Whether  from  the  position  of 
his  head  or  the  sudden  strain  of  the  exertion,  he  seemed 
to  see  a  momentary  shock  among  the  stars,  and  a  diffu- 
sion of  frosty  light  pass  from  one  to  another  along  the 
sky.     At  the  same  instant,  a  corner  of  the  blind  was 

«7 


WILL  O'   THE  MILL 

lifted  up  and  lowered  again  at  once.  He  laughed  a  loud 
ho-ho!  ''One  and  another!"  thought  Will.  "The 
stars  tremble,  and  the  blind  goes  up.  Why,  before 
Heaven,  what  a  great  magician  I  must  be!  Now  if  I 
were  only  a  fool,  should  not  I  be  in  a  pretty  way.?" 
And  he  went  off  to  bed,  chuckling  to  himself:  *'  If  I  were 
only  a  fool! " 

The  next  morning,  pretty  early,  he  saw  her  once  more 
in  the  garden,  and  sought  her  out. 

*M  have  been  thinking  about  getting  married,"  he  be- 
gan abruptly;  ''and  after  having  turned  it  all  over,  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  it's  not  worth  while." 

She  turned  upon  him  for  a  single  moment;  but  his 
radiant,  kindly  appearance  would,  under  the  circum- 
stances, have  disconcerted  an  angel,  and  she  looked 
down  again  upon  the  ground  in  silence.  He  could  see 
her  tremble. 

"I  hope  you  don't  mind,"  he  went  on,  a  little  taken 
aback.  "  You  ought  not.  I  have  turned  it  all  over,  and 
upon  my  soul  there's  nothing  in  it.  We  should  never 
be  one  whit  nearer  than  we  are  just  now,  and,  if  I  am  a 
wise  man,  nothing  like  so  happy." 

"It  is  unnecessary  to  go  round  about  with  me,"  she 
said.  "  I  very  well  remember  that  you  refused  to  com- 
mit yourself;  and  now  that  I  see  you  were  mistaken,  and 
in  reality  have  never  cared  for  me,  I  can  only  feel  sad 
that  I  have  been  so  far  misled." 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,"  said  Will  stoutly;  "you  do  not 
understand  my  meaning.  As  to  whether  I  have  ever 
loved  you  or  not,  I  must  leave  that  to  others.  But  for 
one  thing,  my  feeling  is  not  changed ;  and  for  another, 
you  may  make  it  your  boast  that  you  have  made  my 

88 


WILL  O'   THE  MILL 

whole  life  and  character  something  different  from  what 
they  were.  1  mean  what  I  say;  no  less.  1  do  not  think 
getting  married  is  worth  while.  1  would  rather  you 
went  on  living  with  your  father,  so  that  I  could  walk 
over  and  see  you  once,  or  maybe  twice  a  week,  as  peo- 
ple go  to  church,  and  then  we  should  both  be  all  the 
happier  between  whiles.  That's  my  notion.  But  I'll 
marry  you  if  you  will,"  he  added. 

**Do  you  know  that  you  are  insulting  me?"  she 
broke  out. 

"Not  I,  Marjory,"  said  he;  *'if  there  is  anything  in 
a  clear  conscience,  not  I.  I  offer  all  my  heart's  best 
affections ;  you  can  take  it  or  want  it,  though  I  suspect 
it's  beyond  either  your  power  or  mine  to  change  what 
has  once  been  done,  and  set  me  fancy-free.  I'll  marry 
you,  if  you  like;  but  I  tell  you  again  and  again,  it's  not 
worth  while,  and  we  had  best  stay  friends.  Though  I 
am  a  quiet  man  I  have  noticed  a  heap  of  things  in  my 
life.  Trust  in  me,  and  take  things  as  I  propose ;  or,  if 
you  don't  like  that,  say  the  word,  and  I'll  marry  you  out 
of  hand." 

There  was  a  considerable  pause,  and  Will,  who  began 
to  feel  uneasy,  began  to  grow  angry  in  consequence. 

"  It  seems  you  are  too  proud  to  say  your  mind,"  he 
said.  "  Believe  me  that's  a  pity.  A  clean  shrift  makes 
simple  living.  Can  a  man  be  more  downright  or  hon- 
ourable to  a  woman  than  1  have  been  ?  I  have  said  my 
say,  and  given  you  your  choice.  Do  you  want  me  to 
marry  you  ?  or  will  you  take  my  friendship,  as  I  think 
best  ?  or  have  you  had  enough  of  me  for  good  ?  Speak 
out  for  the  dear  God's  sake!  You  know  your  father 
told  you  a  girl  should  speak  her  mind  in  these  affairs." 

89 


WILL  O'   THE  MILL 

She  seemed  to  recover  herself  at  that,  turned  without 
a  word,  walked  rapidly  through  the  garden,  and  disap- 
peared into  the  house,  leaving  Will  in  some  confusion 
as  to  the  result.  He  walked  up  and  down  the  garden, 
whistling  softly  to  himself  Sometimes  he  stopped  and 
contemplated  the  sky  and  hill-tops;  sometimes  he  went 
down  to  the  tail  of  the  weir  and  sat  there,  looking  fool- 
ishly in  the  water.  All  this  dubiety  and  perturbation 
was  so  foreign  to  his  nature  and  the  life  which  he  had 
resolutely  chosen  for  himself,  that  he  began  to  regret 
Marjory's  arrival.  ''After  all,"  he  thought,  "  I  was  as 
happy  as  a  man  need  be.  I  could  come  down  here  and 
watch  my  fishes  all  day  long  if  I  wanted :  I  was  as  set- 
tled and  contented  as  my  old  mill." 

Marjory  came  down  to  dinner,  looking  very  trim  and 
quiet ;  and  no  sooner  were  all  three  at  table  than  she 
made  her  father  a  speech,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  her 
plate,  but  showing  no  other  sign  of  embarrassment  or 
distress. 

"  Father,"  she  began,  **  Mr.  Will  and  I  have  been  talk- 
ing things  over.  We  see  that  we  have  each  made  a 
mistake  about  our  feelings,  and  he  has  agreed,  at  my 
request,  to  give  up  all  idea  of  marriage,  and  be  no  more 
than  my  very  good  friend,  as  in  the  past.  You  see, 
there  is  no  shadow  of  a  quarrel,  and  indeed  I  hope  we 
shall  see  a  great  deal  of  him  in  the  future,  for  his  visits 
will  always  be  welcome  in  our  house.  Of  course,  father, 
you  will  know  best,  but  perhaps  we  should  do  better 
to  leave  Mr.  Will's  house  for  the  present.  I  believe, 
after  what  has  passed,  we  should  hardly  be  agreeable 
inmates  for  some  days." 

Will,  who  had  commanded  himself  with  difficulty 

90 


WILL  O'  THE  MILL 

from  the  first,  broke  out  upon  this  into  an  inarticulate 
noise,  and  raised*  one  hand  with  an  appearance  of  real 
dismay,  as  if  he  were  about  to  interfere  and  contradict. 
But  she  checl^ed  him  at  once,  looking  up  at  him  with  a 
swift  glance  and  an  angry  flush  upon  her  cheek. 

"You  will  perhaps  have  the  good  grace,"  she  said, 
**to  let  me  explain  these  matters  for  myself" 

Will  was  put  entirely  out  of  countenance  by  her  ex- 
pression and  the  ring  of  her  voice.  He  held  his  peace, 
concluding  that  there  were  some  things  about  this  girl 
beyond  his  comprehension,  in  which  he  was  exactly 
right. 

The  poor  parson  was  quite  crestfallen.  He  tried  to 
prove  that  this  was  no  more  than  a  true  lovers'  tiff, 
which  would  pass  off  before  night;  and  when  he  was 
dislodged  from  that  position,  he  went  on  to  argue  that 
where  there  was  no  quarrel  there  could  be  no  call  for  a 
separation ;  for  the  good  man  liked  both  his  entertain- 
ment and  his  host.  It  was  curious  to  see  how  the  girl 
managed  them,  saying  little  all  the  time,  and  that  very 
quietly,  and  yet  twisting  them  round  her  finger  and  in- 
sensibly leading  them  wherever  she  would  by  feminine 
tact  and  generalship.  It  scarcely  seemed  to  have  been 
her  doing  —  it  seemed  as  if  things  had  merely  so  fallen 
out  —  that  she  and  her  father  took  their  departure  that 
same  afternoon  in  a  farm-cart,  and  went  farther  down 
the  valley,  to  wait,  until  their  own  house  was  ready  for 
them,  in  another  hamlet.  But  Will  had  been  observing 
closely,  and  was  well  aware  of  her  dexterity  and  reso- 
lution. When  he  found  himself  alone  he  had  a  great 
many  curious  matters  to  turn  over  in  his  mind.  He 
was  very  sad  and  solitary,  to  begin  with.     All  the  in- 

9> 


WILL   0'  THE  MILL 

terest  had  gone  out  of  his  life,  and  he  might  look  up  at 
the  stars  as  long  as  he  pleased,  he  somehow  failed  to 
find  support  or  consolation.  And  then  he  was  in  such 
a  turmoil  of  spirit  about  Marjory.  He  had  been  puzzled 
and  irritated  at  her  behaviour,  and  yet  he  could  not  keep 
himself  from  admiring  it.  He  thought  he  recognised  a 
fme,  perverse  angel  in  that  still  soul  which  he  had  never 
hitherto  suspected ;  and  though  he  saw  it  was  an  influ- 
ence that  would  fit  but  ill  with  his  own  life  of  artificial 
calm,  he  could  not  keep  himself  from  ardently  desiring 
to  possess  it.  Like  a  man  who  has  lived  among  shad- 
ows and  now  meets  the  sun,  he  was  both  pained  and 
delighted. 

As  the  days  went  forward  he  passed  from  one  ex- 
treme to  another;  now  pluming  himself  on  the  strength 
of  his  determination,  now  despising  his  timid  and  silly 
caution.  The  former  was,  perhaps,  the  true  thought 
of  his  heart,  and  represented  the  regular  tenor  of  the 
man's  reflections;  but  the  latter  burst  forth  from  time 
to  time  with  an  unruly  violence,  and  then  he  would 
forget  all  consideration,  and  go  up  and  down  his  house 
and  garden  or  walk  among  the  firwoods  like  one  who 
is  beside  himself  with  remorse.  To  equable,  steady- 
minded  Will  this  state  of  matters  was  intolerable ;  and 
he  determined,  at  whatever  cost,  to  bring  it  to  an  end. 
So,  one  warm  summer  afternoon  he  put  on  his  best 
clothes,  took  a  thorn  switch  in  his  hand,  and  set  out 
down  the  valley  by  the  river.  As  soon  as  he  had  taken 
his  determination,  he  had  regained  at  a  bound  his  cus- 
tomary peace  of  heart,  and  he  enjoyed  the  bright  weather 
and  the  variety  of  the  scene  without  any  admixture  of 
alarm  or  unpleasant  eagerness.    It  was  nearly  the  same 

92 


WILL  O'   THE  MILL 

to  him  how  the  matter  turned  out.  If  she  accepted  him 
he  would  have  to  marry  her  this  time,  which  perhaps 
was  all  for  the  best.  If  she  refused  him,  he  would  have 
done  his  utmost,  and  might  follow  his  own  way  in  the 
future  with  an  untroubled  conscience.  He  hoped,  on 
the  whole,  she  would  refuse  him ;  and  then,  again,  as 
he  saw  the  brown  roof  which  sheltered  her,  peeping 
through  some  willows  at  an  angle  of  the  stream,  he  was 
half  inclined  to  reverse  the  wish,  and  more  than  half 
ashamed  of  himself  for  this  infirmity  of  purpose. 

Marjory  seemed  glad  to  see  him,  and  gave  him  her 
hand  without  affectation  or  delay. 

'M  have  been  thinking  about  this  marriage,"  he 
began. 

"So  have  I,"  she  answered.  "And  I  respect  you 
more  and  more  for  a  very  wise  man.  You  understood 
me  better  than  I  understood  myself;  and  I  am  now 
quite  certain  that  things  are  all  for  the  best  as  they  are." 

"At  the  same  time ,"  ventured  Will. 

"  You  must  be  tired,"  she  interrupted.  "  Take  a  seat 
and  let  me  fetch  you  a  glass  of  wine.  The  afternoon  is 
so  warm ;  and  I  wish  you  not  to  be  displeased  with 
your  visit.  You  must  come  quite  often ;  once  a  week, 
if  you  can  spare  the  time ;  I  am  always  so  glad  to  see 
my  friends." 

*  *  O,  very  well, "  thought  Will  to  himself  *  *  It  appears 
I  was  right  after  all."  And  he  paid  a  very  agreeable 
visit,  walked  home  again  in  capital  spirits,  and  gave 
himself  no  further  concern  about  the  matter. 

For  nearly  three  years  Will  and  Marjory  continued 
on  these  terms,  seeing  each  other  once  or  twice  a  week 
without  any  word  of  love  between  them ;  and  for  all 

93 


WILL  O'   THE  MILL 

that  time  I  believe  Will  was  nearly  as  happy  as  a  man 
can  be.  He  rather  stinted  himself  the  pleasure  of  see- 
ing her;  and  he  would  often  walk  half-way  over  to  the 
parsonage,  and  then  back  again,  as  if  to  whet  his  appe- 
tite. Indeed  there  was  one  corner  of  the  road,  whence 
he  could  see  the  church-spire  wedged  into  a  crevice  of 
the  valley  between  sloping  firwoods,  with  a  triangular 
snatch  of  plain  by  way  of  background,  which  he  greatly 
affected  as  a  place  to  sit  and  moralise  in  before  return- 
ing homewards;  and  the  peasants  got  so  much  into  the 
habit  of  finding  him  there  in  the  twilight  that  they  gave 
it  the  name  of  **  Will  o'  the  Mill's  Corner." 

At  the  end  of  the  three  years  Marjory  played  him  a 
sad  trick  by  suddenly  marrying  somebody  else.  Will 
kept  his  countenance  bravely,  and  merely  remarked 
that,  for  as  little  as  he  knew  of  women,  he  had  acted 
very  prudently  in  not  marrying  her  himself  three  years 
before.  She  plainly  knew  very  little  of  her  own  mind, 
and,  in  spite  of  a  deceptive  manner,  was  as  fickle  and 
flighty  as  the  rest  of  them.  He  had  to  congratulate 
himself  on  an  escape,  he  said,  and  would  take  a  higher 
opinion  of  his  own  wisdom  in  consequence.  But  at 
heart,  he  was  reasonably  displeased,  moped  a  good  deal 
for  a  month  or  two,  and  fell  away  in  flesh,  to  the  aston- 
ishment of  his  serving-lads. 

It  was  perhaps  a  year  after  this  marriage  that  Will 
was  awakened  late  one  night  by  the  sound  of  a  horse 
galloping  on  the  road,  followed  by  precipitate  knocking 
at  the  inn-door.  He  opened  his  window  and  saw  a 
farm  servant,  mounted  and  holding  a  led  horse  by  the 
bridle,  who  told  him  to  make  what  haste  he  could  and 
go  along  with  him;  for  Marjory  was  dying,  and  had 

94 


WILL   O'   THE   MILL 

sent  urgently  to  fetch  him  to  her  bedside.  Will  was  no 
horseman,  and  made  so  little  speed  upon  the  way  that 
the  poor  young  wife  was  very  near  her  end  before  he 
arrived.  But  they  had  some  minutes'  talk  in  private, 
and  he  was  present  and  wept  very  bitterly  while  she 
breathed  her  last. 

DEATH 

Year  after  year  went  away  into  nothing,  with  great 
explosions  and  outcries  in  the  cities  on  the  plain:  red 
revolt  springing  up  and  being  suppressed  in  blood,  bat- 
tle swaying  hither  and  thither,  patient  astronomers  in 
observatory  towers  picking  out  and  christening  new 
stars,  plays  being  performed  in  lighted  theatres,  people 
being  carried  into  hospitals  on  stretchers,  and  all  the 
usual  turmoil  and  agitation  of  men's  lives  in  crowded 
centres.  Up  in  Will's  valley  only  the  winds  and  sea- 
sons made  an  epoch;  the  fish  hung  in  the  swift  stream, 
the  birds  circled  overhead,  the  pine-tops  rustled  under- 
neath the  stars,  the  tall  hills  stood  over  all;  and  Will 
went  to  and  fro,  minding  his  wayside  inn,  until  the 
snow  began  to  thicken  on  his  head.  His  heart  was 
young  and  vigorous;  and  if  his  pulses  kept  a  sober 
time,  they  still  beat  strong  and  steady  in  his  wrists. 
He  carried  a  ruddy  stain  on  either  cheek,  like  a  ripe 
apple;  he  stooped  a  little,  but  his  step  was  still  firm; 
and  his  sinewy  hands  were  reached  out  to  all  men  with 
a  friendly  pressure.  His  face  was  covered  with  those 
wrinkles  which  are  got  in  open  air,  and  which,  rightly 
looked  at,  are  no  more  than  a  sort  of  permanent  sun- 
burning;  such  wrinkles  heighten  the  stupidity  of  stupid 
faces ;  but  to  a  person  like  Will,  with  his  clear  eyes  and 


WILL  O'   THE  MILL 

smiling  mouth,  only  give  another  charm  by  testifying 
to  a  simple  and  easy  life.  His  talk  was  full  of  wise  say- 
ings. He  had  a  taste  for  other  people;  and  other  peo- 
ple had  a  taste  for  him.  When  the  valley  was  full  of 
tourists  in  the  season,  there  were  merry  nights  in  Will's 
arbour;  and  his  views,  which  seemed  whimsical  to  his 
neighbours,  were  often  enough  admired  by  learned  peo- 
ple put  of  towns  and  colleges.  Indeed,  he  had  a  very 
noble  old  age,  and  grew  daily  better  known ;  so  that 
his  fame  was  heard  of  in  the  cities  of  the  plain ;  and 
young  men  who  had  been  summer  travellers  spoke  to- 
gether in  cafes  of  Will  o'  the  Mill  and  his  rough  phi- 
losophy. Many  and  many  an  invitation,  you  may  be 
sure,  he  had;  but  nothing  could  tempt  him  from  his 
upland  valley.  He  would  shake  his  head  and  smile 
over  his  tobacco-pipe  with  a  deal  of  meaning.  ''  You 
come  too  late,"  he  would  answer.  "  I  am  a  dead  man 
now:  I  have  lived  and  died  already.  Fifty  years  ago 
you  would  have  brought  my  heart  into  my  mouth ;  and 
now  you  do  not  even  tempt  me.  But  that  is  the  object 
of  long  living,  that  man  should  cease  to  care  about 
life."  And  again:  *' There  is  only  one  difference  be- 
tween a  long  life  and  a  good  dinner:  that,  in  the  dinner, 
the  sweets  come  last."  Or  once  more:  "When  I  was 
a  boy,  I  was  a  bit  puzzled,  and  hardly  knew  whether 
it  was  myself  or  the  world  that  was  curious  and  worth 
looking  into.  Now,  I  know  it  is  myself,  and  stick  to 
that." 

He  never  showed  any  symptoms  of  frailty,  but  kept 
stalwart  and  firm  to  the  last;  but  they  say  he  grew  less 
talkative  towards  the  end,  and  would  listen  to  other 
people  by  the  hour  in  an  amused  and  sympathetic  si- 

96 


WILL   O'   THE   MILL 

lence.  Only,  when  he  did  speak,  it  was  more  to  the 
point  and  more  charged  with  old  experience.  He  drank 
a  bottle  of  wine  gladly;  above  all,  at  sunset  on  the  hill- 
top or  quite  late  at  night  under  the  stars  in  the  arbour. 
The  sight  of  something  attractive  and  unattainable  sea- 
soned his  enjoyment,  he  would  say ;  and  he  professed 
he  had  lived  long  enough  to  admire  a  candle  all  the 
more  when  he  could  compare  it  with  a  planet. 

One  night,  in  his  seventy-second  year,  he  awoke  in 
bed,  in  such  uneasiness  of  body  and  mind  that  he  arose 
and  dressed  himself  and  went  out  to  meditate  in  the 
arbour.  It  was  pitch  dark,  without  a  star;  the  river 
was  swollen,  and  the  wet  woods  and  meadows  loaded 
the  air  with  perfume.  It  had  thundered  during  the 
day,  and  it  promised  more  thunder  for  the  morrow. 
A  murky,  stifling  night  for  a  man  of  seventy-two! 
Whether  it  was  the  weather  or  the  wakefulness,  or 
some  little  touch  of  fever  in  his  old  limbs,  Will's  mind 
was  besieged  by  tumultuous  and  crying  memories.  His 
boyhood,  the  night  with  the  fat  young  man,  the  death 
of  his  adopted  parents,  the  summer  days  with  Marjory, 
and  many  of  those  small  circumstances,  which  seem 
nothing  to  another,  and  are  yet  the  very  gist  of  a  man's 
own  life  to  himself — things  seen,  words  heard,  looks 
misconstrued  —  arose  from  their  forgotten  corners  and 
usurped  his  attention.  The  dead  themselves  were  with 
him,  not  merely  taking  part  in  this  thin  show  of  mem- 
ory that  defiled  before  his  brain,  but  revisiting  his  bodily 
senses  as  they  do  in  profound  and  vivid  dreams.  The 
fat  young  man  leaned  his  elbows  on  the  table  opposite; 
Marjory  came  and  went  with  an  apronful  of  flowers 
between  the  garden  and  the  arbour;  he  could  hear  the 

97 


WILL  O'   THE   MILL 

old  parson  knocking  out  his  pipe  or  blowing  his  reso- 
nant nose.  The  tide  of  his  consciousness  ebbed  and 
flowed:  he  was  sometimes  half-asleep  and  drowned  in 
his  recollections  of  the  past;  and  sometimes  he  was 
broad  awake,  wondering  at  himself.  But  about  the 
middle  of  the  night  he  was  startled  by  the  voice  of  the 
dead  miller  calling  to  him  out  of  the  house  as  he  used 
to  do  on  the  arrival  of  custom.  The  hallucination  was 
so  perfect  that  Will  sprang  from  his  seat  and  stood  lis- 
tening for  the  summons  to  be  repeated;  and  as  he 
listened  he  became  conscious  of  another  noise  besides 
the  brawling  of  the  river  and  the  ringing  in  his  feverish 
ears.  It  was  like  the  stir  of  the  horses  and  the  creak- 
ing of  harness,  as  though  a  carriage  with  an  impatient 
team  had  been  brought  up  upon  the  road  before  the 
courtyard  gate.  At  such  an  hour,  upon  this  rough  and 
dangerous  pass,  the  supposition  was  no  better  than 
absurd ;  and  Will  dismissed  it  from  his  mind,  and  re- 
sumed his  seat  upon  the  arbour  chair;  and  sleep  closed 
over  him  again  like  running  water.  He  was  once  again 
awakened  by  the  dead  miller's  call,  thinner  and  more 
spectral  than  before;  and  once  again  he  heard  the  noise 
of  an  equipage  upon  the  road.  And  so  thrice  and  four 
times,  the  same  dream,  or  the  same  fancy,  presented 
itself  to  his  senses :  until  at  length,  smiling  to  himself 
as  when  one  humours  a  nervous  child,  he  proceeded 
towards  the  gate  to  set  his  uncertainty  at  rest. 

From  the  arbour  to  the  gate  was  no  great  distance, 
and  yet  it  took  Will  some  time;  it  seemed  as  if  the  dead 
thickened  around  him  in  the  court,  and  crossed  his 
path  at  every  step.  For,  first,  he  was  suddenly  sur- 
prised by  an  overpowering  sweetness  of  heliotropes ;  it 

98 


WILL  O'   THE   MILL 

was  as  if  his  garden  had  been  planted  with  this  flower 
from  end  to  end,  and  the  hot,  damp  night  had  drawn 
forth  all  their  perfumes  in  a  breath.  Now  the  helio- 
trope had  been  Marjory's  favourite  flower,  and  since 
her  death  not  one  of  them  had  ever  been  planted  in 
Will's  ground. 

"I  must  be  going  crazy,"  he  thought.  **  Poor  Mar- 
jory and  her  heliotropes! " 

And  with  that  he  raised  his  eyes  towards  the  window 
that  had  once  been  hers.  If  he  had  been  bewildered 
before,  he  was  now  almost  terrified;  for  there  was  a 
light  in  the  room ;  the  window  was  an  orange  oblong 
as  of  yore;  and  the  corner  of  the  blind  was  lifted  and 
let  fall  as  on  the  night  when  he  stood  and  shouted  to 
the  stars  in  his  perplexity.  The  illusion  only  endured 
an  instant;  but  it  left  him  somewhat  unmanned,  rub- 
bing his  eyes  and  staring  at  the  outline  of  the  house  and 
the  black  night  behind  it.  While  he  thus  stood,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  he  must  have  stood  there  quite  a  long 
time,  there  came  a  renewal  of  the  noises  on  the  road : 
and  he  turned  in  time  to  meet  a  stranger,  who  was  ad- 
vancing to  meet  him  across  the  court.  There  was 
something  like  the  outline  of  a  great  carriage  discerni- 
ble on  the  road  behind  the  stranger,  and,  above  that,  a 
few  black  pine-tops,  like  so  many  plumes. 

"Master  Will.?"  asked  the  new-comer,  in  brief  mili- 
tary fashion. 

"That  same,  sir,"  answered  Will.  "Can  I  do  any- 
thing to  serve  you  ?  " 

"I  have  heard  you  much  spoken  of.  Master  Will," 
returned  the  other;  "much  spoken  of,  and  well.  And 
though  I  have  both  hands  full  of  business,  I  wish  to 

99 


WILL  O'   THE  MILL 

drink  a  bottle  of  wine  with  you  in  your  arbour.  Before 
I  go,  I  shall  introduce  myself." 

Will  led  the  way  to  the  trellis,  and  got  a  lamp  lighted 
and  a  bottle  uncorked.  He  was  not  altogether  unused 
to  such  complimentary  interviews,  and  hoped  little 
enough  from  this  one,  being  schooled  by  many  disap- 
pointments. A  sort  of  cloud  had  settled  on  his  wits 
and  prevented  him  from  remembering  the  strangeness 
of  the  hour.  He  moved  like  a  person  in  his  sleep;  and 
it  seemed  as  if  the  lamp  caught  fire  and  the  bottle  came 
uncorked  with  the  facility  of  thought.  Still,  he  had 
some  curiosity  about  the  appearance  of  his  visitor,  and 
tried  in  vain  to  turn  the  light  into  his  face;  either  he 
handled  the  lamp  clumsily,  or  there  was  a  dimness  over 
his  eyes;  but  he  could  make  out  little  more  than  a 
shadow  at  table  with  him.  He  stared  and  stared  at  this 
shadow,  as  he  wiped  out  the  glasses,  and  began  to  feel 
cold  and  strange  about  the  heart.  The  silence  weighed 
upon  him,  for  he  could  hear  nothing  now,  not  even  the 
river,  but  the  drumming  of  his  own  arteries  in  his  ears. 

**  Here's  to  you,"  said  the  stranger,  roughly. 

"Here  is  my  service,  sir,"  replied  Will,  sipping  his 
wine,  which  somehow  tasted  oddly. 

"  I  understand  you  are  a  very  positive  fellow,"  pur- 
sued the  stranger. 

Will  made  answer  with  a  smile  of  some  satisfaction 
and  a  little  nod. 

"So  am  1,"  continued  the  other;  "and  it  is  the  de- 
light of  my  heart  to  tramp  on  people's  corns.  I  will 
have  nobody  positive  but  myself;  not  one.  I  have 
crossed  the  whims,  in  my  time,  of  kings  and  generals 
and   great  artists.      And  what  would  you  say,"  he 


WILL   O'  THE   MILL 

went  on,  "if  I  had  come  up  here  on  purpose  to  cross 
yours  ?  " 

Will  had  it  on  his  tongue  to  make  a  sharp  rejoinder; 
but  the  politeness  of  an  old  innkeeper  prevailed ;  and  he 
held  his  peace  and  made  answer  with  a  civil  gesture  of 
the  hand. 

*'  I  have,"  said  the  stranger.  **  And  if  I  did  not  hold 
you  in  a  particular  esteem,  I  should  make  no  words 
about  the  matter.  It  appears  you  pride  yourself  on  stay- 
ing where  you  are.  You  mean  to  stick  by  your  inn. 
Now  1  mean  you  shall  come  for  a  turn  with  me  in 
my  barouche;  and  before  this  bottle's  empty,  so  you 
shall." 

**That  would  be  an  odd  thing,  to  be  sure,"  replied 
Will,  with  a  chuckle.  ''Why,  sir,  I  have  grown  here 
like  an  old  oak-tree;  the  Devil  himself  could  hardly  root 
me  up :  and  for  all  I  perceive  you  are  a  very  entertaining 
old  gentleman,  1  would  wager  you  another  bottle  you 
lose  your  pains  with  me." 

The  dimness  of  Will's  eyesight  had  been  increasing 
all  this  while ;  but  he  was  somehow  conscious  of  a  sharp 
and  chilling  scrutiny  which  irritated  and  yet  overmas- 
tered him. 

**  You  need  not  think,"  he  broke  out  suddenly,  in  an 
explosive,  febrile  manner  that  startled  and  alarmed  him- 
self, "that  I  am  a  stay-at-home,  because  I  fear  anything 
under  God.  God  knows  I  am  tired  enough  of  it  all; 
and  when  the  time  comes  for  a  longer  journey  than  ever 
you  dream  of,  1  reckon  1  shall  find  myself  prepared." 

The  stranger  emptied  his  glass  and  pushed  it  away 
from  him.  He  looked  down  for  a  little,  and  then,  lean- 
ing over  the  table,  tapped  Will  three  times  upon  the 

101 


WILL  O'   THE   MILL 

forearm  with  a  single  finger.  "The  time  has  come! " 
he  said  solemnly. 

An  ugly  thrill  spread  from  the  spot  he  touched.  The 
tones  of  his  voice  were  dull  and  startling,  and  echoed 
strangely  in  Will's  heart. 

**I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  with  some  discom- 
posure.    ''What  do  you  mean .^" 

"  Look  at  me,  and  you  will  find  your  eyesight  swim. 
Raise  your  hand;  it  is  dead-heavy.  This  is  your  last 
bottle  of  wine.  Master  Will,  and  your  last  night  upon 
the  earth." 

''You  are  a  doctor.^"  quavered  Will. 

"The  best  that  ever  was,"  replied  the  other;  "for  I 
cure  both  mind  and  body  with  the  same  prescription. 
I  take  away  all  pain  and  1  forgive  all  sins ;  and  where  my 
patients  have  gone  wrong  in  life,  I  smooth  out  all  com- 
plications and  set  them  free  again  upon  their  feet." 

"I  have  no  need  of  you,"  said  Will. 

"  A  time  comes  for  all  men,  Master  Will,"  replied  the 
doctor,  "when  the  helm  is  taken  out  of  their  hands. 
For  you,  because  you  were  prudent  and  quiet,  it  has 
been  long  of  coming,  and  you  have  had  long  to  disci- 
pline yourself  for  its  reception.  You  have  seen  what  is 
to  be  seen  about  your  mill ;  you  have  sat  close  all  your 
days  like  a  hare  in  its  form;  but  now  that  is  at  an  end; 
and,"  added  the  doctor,  getting  on  his  feet,  "you  must 
arise  and  come  with  me." 

"You  are  a  strange  physician,"  said  Will,  looking 
steadfastly  upon  his  guest. 

"I  am  a  natural  law,"  he  replied,  "and  people  call 
me  Death." 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  so  at  first  ?"  cried  Will. 


WILL   O'    THE   MILL 

**  I  have  been  waiting  for  you  these  many  years.  Give 
me  your  hand,  and  welcome." 

"  Lean  upon  my  arm,"  said  the  stranger,  *'  for  already 
your  strength  abates.  Lean  on  me  heavily  as  you  need ; 
for  though  I  am  old,  I  am  very  strong.  It  is  but  three 
steps  to  my  carriage,  and  there  all  your  trouble  ends. 
Why,  Will,"  he  added,  '*  I  have  been  yearning  for  you 
as  if  you  were  my  own  son ;  and  of  all  the  men  that 
ever  I  came  for  in  my  long  days,  I  have  come  for  you 
most  gladly.  I  am  caustic,  and  sometimes  offend  people 
at  first  sight;  but  I  am  a  good  friend  at  heart  to  such  as 
you." 

"Since  Marjory  was  taken,"  returned  Will,  *M  de- 
clare before  God  you  were  the  only  friend  I  had  to  look 
for." 

So  the  pair  went  arm-in-arm  across  the  courtyard. 

One  of  the  servants  awoke  about  this  time  and  heard 
the  noise  of  horses  pawing  before  he  dropped  asleep 
again ;  all  down  the  valley  that  night  there  was  a  rush- 
ing as  of  a  smooth  and  steady  wind  descending  towards 
the  plain ;  and  when  the  world  rose  next  morning,  sure 
enough  Will  o'  the  Mill  had  gone  at  last  upon  his 
travels. 


103 


MARKHEIM 

"  'W'ES,"  said  the  dealer,  *'  our  windfalls  are  of  various 
I  kinds.  Some  customers  are  ignorant,  and  then 
I  touch  a  dividend  on  my  superior  knowledge.  Some 
are  dishonest,"  and  here  he  held  up  the  candle,  so  that 
the  light  fell  strongly  on  his  visitor,  "and  in  that  case," 
he  continued,  "  I  profit  by  my  virtue." 

Markheim  had  but  just  entered  from  the  daylight 
streets,  and  his  eyes  had  not  yet  grown  familiar  with 
the  mingled  shine  and  darkness  in  the  shop.  At  these 
pointed  words,  and  before  the  near  presence  of  the  flame, 
he  blinked  painfully  and  looked  aside. 

The  dealer  chuckled.  *' You  come  to  me  on  Christ- 
mas Day,"  he  resumed,  **when  you  know  that  I  am 
alone  in  my  house,  put  up  my  shutters,  and  make  a 
point  of  refusing  business.  Well,  you  will  have  to  pay 
for  that;  you  will  have  to  pay  for  my  loss  of  time, 
when  I  should  be  balancing  my  books;  you  will  have 
to  pay,  besides,  for  a  kind  of  manner  that  I  remark  in 
you  to-day  very  strongly.  1  am  the  essence  of  discre- 
tion, and  ask  no  awkward  questions;  but  when  a  cus- 
tomer cannot  look  me  in  the  eye,  he  has  to  pay  for  it." 
The  dealer  once  more  chuckled ;  and  then,  changing  to 
his  usual  business  voice,  though  still  with  a  note  of 

•04 


MARKHEIM 

irony,  '*  You  can  give,  as  usual,  a  clear  account  of  how 
you  came  into  the  possession  of  the  object?"  he  con- 
tinued. **  Still  your  uncle's  cabinet  ?  A  remarkable  col- 
lector, sir!" 

And  the  little  pale,  round-shouldered  dealer  stood  al- 
most on  tip-toe,  looking  over  the  top  of  his  gold  spec- 
tacles, and  nodding  his  head  with  every  mark  of  disbelief. 
Markheim  returned  his  gaze  with  one  of  infinite  pity,  and 
a  touch  of  horror. 

**This  time,"  said  he,  **you  are  in  error.  1  have  not 
come  to  sell,  but  to  buy.  1  have  no  curios  to  dispose 
of;  my  uncle's  cabinet  is  bare  to  the  wainscot;  even 
were  it  still  intact,  I  have  done  well  on  the  Stock  Ex- 
change, and  should  more  likely  add  to  it  than  otherwise, 
and  my  errand  to-day  is  simplicity  itself  1  seek  a 
Christmas  present  for  a  lady,"  he  continued,  waxing 
more  fluent  as  he  struck  into  the  speech  he  had  pre- 
pared; "and  certainly  I  owe  you  every  excuse  for  thus 
disturbing  you  upon  so  small  a  matter.  But  the  thing 
was  neglected  yesterday;  1  must  produce  my  little  com- 
pliment at  dinner;  and,  as  you  very  well  know,  a  rich 
marriage  is  not  a  thing  to  be  neglected." 

There  followed  a  pause,  during  which  the  dealer 
seemed  to  weigh  this  statement  incredulously.  The 
ticking  of  many  clocks  among  the  curious  lumber  of 
the  shop,  and  the  faint  rushing  of  the  cabs  in  a  near 
thoroughfare,  filled  up  the  interval  of  silence. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  dealer,  "be  it  so.  You  are  an 
old  customer  after  all ;  and  if,  as  you  say,  you  have  the 
chance  of  a  good  marriage,  far  be  it  from  me  to  be  an 
obstacle.  Here  is  a  nice  thing  for  a  lady  now,"  he 
went  on,  "this  hand  glass  —  fifteenth  century,  war- 

105 


MARKHEIM 

ranted;  comes  from  a  good  collection,  too;  but  I  re- 
serve the  name,  in  the  interests  of  my  customer,  who 
was  just  like  yourself,  my  dear  sir,  the  nephew  and  sole 
heir  of  a  remarkable  collector." 

The  dealer,  while  he  thus  ran  on  in  his  dry  and  biting 
voice,  had  stooped  to  take  the  object  from  its  place ; 
and,  as  he  had  done  so,  a  shock  had  passed  through 
Markheim,  a  start  both  of  hand  and  foot,  a  sudden  leap 
of  many  tumultuous  passions  to  the  face.  It  passed  as 
swiftly  as  it  came,  and  left  no  trace  beyond  a  certain 
trembling  of  the  hand  that  now  received  the  glass. 

**  A  glass,"  he  said  hoarsely,  and  then  paused,  and 
repeated  it  more  clearly.  "A  glass.?  For  Christmas .? 
Surely  not  ?  " 

"And  why  not?"  cried  the  dealer.  *'Why  not  a 
glass  ?  " 

Markheim  was  looking  upon  him  with  an  indefinable 
expression.  *  *  You  ask  me  why  not  ?  "  he  said.  *  *  Why, 
look  here — look  in  it — look  at  yourself!  Do  you  like 
to  see  it  ?    No !  nor  I  —  nor  any  man. " 

The  little  man  had  jumped  back  when  Markheim  had 
so  suddenly  confronted  him  with  the  mirror;  but  now, 
perceiving  there  was  nothing  worse  on  hand,  he  chuck- 
led. "Your  future  lady,  sir,  must  be  pretty  hard  fa- 
voured," said  he. 

"  I  ask  you,"  said  Markheim,  "for  a  Christmas  pres- 
ent, and  you  give  me  this  —  this  damned  reminder  of 
years,  and  sins  and  follies  —  this  hand-conscience !  Did 
you  mean  it  ?  Had  you  a  thought  in  your  mind  ?  Tell 
me.  It  will  be  better  for  you  if  you  do.  Come,  tell  me 
about  yourself  I  hazard  a  guess  now,  that  you  are  in 
secret  a  very  charitable  man  ? 

io6 


MARKHEIM 

The  dealer  looked  closely  at  his  companion.  It  was 
very  odd,  Markheim  did  not  appear  to  be  laughing; 
there  was  something  in  his  face  like  an  eager  sparkle  of 
hope,  but  nothing  of  mirth. 

**  What  are  you  driving  at  ?"  the  dealer  asked. 

"Not  charitable.^"  returned  the  other,  gloomily. 
"  Not  charitable ;  not  pious;  not  scrupulous;  unloving, 
unbeloved ;  a  hand  to  get  money,  a  safe  to  keep  it.  Is 
that  all  ?    Dear  God,  man,  is  that  all  ?  " 

*'  1  will  tell  you  what  it  is,"  began  the  dealer,  with 
some  sharpness,  and  then  broke  off  again  into  a  chuckle. 
"  But  I  see  this  is  a  love  match  of  yours,  and  you  have 
been  drinking  the  lady's  health." 

"Ah!"  cried  Markheim,  with  a  strange  curiosity. 
"  Ah,  have  you  been  in  love  ?    Tell  me  about  that." 

"I,"  cried  the  dealer.  "  I  in  love!  1  never  had  the 
time,  nor  have  I  the  time  to-day  for  all  this  nonsense. 
Will  you  take  the  glass  ?" 

"Where  is  the  hurry .^"  returned  Markheim.  "It 
is  very  pleasant  to  stand  here  talking;  and  life  is  so 
short  and  insecure  that  1  would  not  hurry  away  from 
any  pleasure  —  no,  not  even  from  so  mild  a  one  as  this. 
We  should  rather  cling,  cling  to  what  little  we  can  get, 
like  a  man  at  a  cliffs  edge.  Every  second  is  a  clifif,  if 
you  think  upon  it  —  a  cliff  a  mile  high  —  high  enough, 
if  we  fiill,  to  dash  us  out  of  every  feature  of  humanity. 
Hence  it  is  best  to  talk  pleasantly.  Let  us  talk  of  each 
other;  why  should  we  wear  this  mask  ?  Let  us  be  con- 
fidential.    Who  knows,  we  might  become  friends  ?" 

"I  have  just  one  word  to  say  to  you,"  said  the 
dealer.  "  Either  make  your  purchase,  or  walk  out  of 
my  shop." 

107 


MARKHEIM 

''True,  true,"  said  Markheim.  ''Enough  fooling. 
To  business.     Show  me  something  else." 

The  dealer  stooped  once  more,  this  time  to  replace 
the  glass  upon  the  shelf,  his  thin  blond  hair  falling  over 
his  eyes  as  he  did  so.  Markheim  moved  a  little  nearer, 
with  one  hand  in  the  pocket  of  his  greatcoat ;  he  drew 
himself  up  and  filled  his  lungs ;  at  the  same  time  many 
different  emotions  were  depicted  together  on  his  face  — 
terror,  horror,  and  resolve,  fascination  and  a  physical 
repulsion ;  and  through  a  haggard  lift  of  his  upper  lip, 
his  teeth  looked  out. 

"This,  perhaps,  may  suit, "  observed  the  dealer;  and 
then,  as  he  began  to  re-arise,  Markheim  bounded  from 
behind  upon  his  victim.  The  long,  skewerlike  dagger 
flashed  and  fell.  The  dealer  struggled  like  a  hen,  strik- 
ing his  temple  on  the  shelf,  and  then  tumbled  on  the 
floor  in  a  heap. 

Time  had  some  score  of  small  voices  in  that  shop, 
some  stately  and  slow  as  was  becoming  to  their  great 
age;  others  garrulous  and  hurried.  All  these  told  out 
the  seconds  in  an  intricate  chorus  of  tickings.  Then 
the  passage  of  a  lad's  feet,  heavily  running  on  the  pave- 
ment, broke  in  upon  these  smaller  voices  and  startled 
Markheim  into  the  consciousness  of  his  surroundings. 
He  looked  about  him  awfully.  The  candle  stood  on  the 
counter,  its  flame  solemnly  wagging  in  a  draught;  and 
by  that  inconsiderable  movement,  the  whole  room  was 
filled  with  noiseless  bustle  and  kept  heaving  like  a  sea: 
the  tall  shadows  nodding,  the  gross  blots  of  darkness 
swelling  and  dwindling  as  with  respiration,  the  faces 
of  the  portraits  and  the  china  gods  changing  and  wa- 
vering like  images  in  water.     The  inner  door  stood  ajar, 

io8 


MARKHEIM 

and  peered  into  that  leaguer  of  shadows  with  a  long 
slit  of  daylight  like  a  pointing  finger. 

From  these  fear-stricken  rovings,  Markheim's  eyes 
returned  to  the  body  of  his  victim,  where  it  lay  both 
humped  and  sprawling,  incredibly  small  and  strangely 
meaner  than  in  life.  In  these  poor,  miserly  clothes,  in 
that  ungainly  attitude,  the  dealer  lay  like  so  much  saw- 
dust. Markheim  had  feared  to  see  it,  and,  lo!  it  was 
nothing.  And  yet,  as  he  gazed,  this  bundle  of  old 
clothes  and  pool  of  blood  began  to  find  eloquent  voices. 
There  it  must  lie ;  there  was  none  to  work  the  cunning 
hinges  or  direct  the  miracle  of  locomotion  —  there  it 
must  lie  till  it  was  found.  Found!  ay,  and  then  .^ 
Then  would  this  dead  flesh  lift  up  a  cry  that  would  ring 
over  England,  and  fill  the  world  with  the  echoes  of  pur- 
suit. Ay,  dead  or  not,  this  was  still  the  enemy.  "Time 
was  that  when  the  brains  were  out, "  he  thought ;  and  the 
first  word  struck  into  his  mind.  Time,  now  that  the  deed 
was  accomplished  —  time,  which  had  closed  for  the  vic- 
tim, had  become  instant  and  momentous  for  the  slayer. 

The  thought  was  yet  in  his  mind,  when,  first  one  and 
then  another,  with  every  variety  of  pace  and  voice  — 
one  deep  as  the  bell  from  a  cathedral  turret,  another 
ringing  on  its  treble  notes  the  prelude  of  a  waltz  —  the 
clocks  began  to  strike  the  hour  of  three  in  the  afternoon. 

The  sudden  outbreak  of  so  many  tongues  in  that 
dumb  chamber  staggered  him.  He  began  to  bestir  him- 
self, going  to  and  fro  with  the  candle,  beleaguered  by 
moving  shadows,  and  startled  to  the  soul  by  chance  re- 
flections. In  many  rich  mirrors,  some  of  home  designs, 
some  from  Venice  or  Amsterdam,  he  saw  his  face  re- 
peated and  repeated,  as  it  were  an  army  of  spies;  his 

109 


MARKHEIM 

own  eyes  met  and  detected  him ;  and  the  sound  of  his 
own  steps,  lightly  as  they  fell,  vexed  the  surrounding 
quiet.  And  still  as  he  continued  to  fill  his  pockets,  his 
mind  accused  him,  with  a  sickening  iteration,  of  the 
thousand  faults  of  his  design.  He  should  have  chosen 
a  more  quiet  hour;  he  should  have  prepared  an  alibi; 
he  should  not  have  used  a  knife;  he  should  have  been 
more  cautious,  and  only  bound  and  gagged  the  dealer, 
and  not  killed  him;  he  should  have  been  more  bold, 
and  killed  the  servant  also;  he  should  have  done  all 
things  otherwise;  poignant  regrets,  weary,  incessant 
toiling  of  the  mind  to  change  what  was  unchangeable, 
to  plan  what  was  now  useless,  to  be  the  architect  of  the 
irrevocable  past.  Meanwhile,  and  behind  all  this  activ- 
ity, brute  terrors,  like  the  scurrying  of  rats  in  a  deserted 
attic,  filled  the  more  remote  chambers  of  his  brain  with 
riot;  the  hand  of  the  constable  would  fall  heavy  on  his 
shoulder,  and  his  nerves  would  jerk  like  a  hooked  fish ; 
or  he  beheld,  in  galloping  defile,  the  dock,  the  prison, 
the  gallows,  and  the  black  coffin. 

Terror  of  the  people  in  the  street  sat  down  before  his 
mind  like  a  besieging  army.  It  was  impossible,  he 
thought,  but  that  some  rumour  of  the  struggle  must 
have  reached  their  ears  and  set  on  edge  their  curiosity; 
and  now,  in  all  the  neighbouring  houses,  he  divined 
them  sitting  motionless  and  with  uplifted  ear  —  solitary 
people,  condemned  to  spend  Christmas  dwelling  alone 
on  memories  of  the  past,  and  now  startingly  recalled 
from  that  tender  exercise;  happy  family  parties,  struck 
into  silence  round  the  table,  the  mother  still  with  raised 
finger:  every  degree  and  age  and  humour,  but  all,  by 
their  own  hearts,  prying  and  hearkening  and  weaving 


MARKHEIM 

the  rope  that  was  to  hang  him.  Sometimes  it  seemed 
to  him  he  could  not  move  too  softly ;  the  clink  of  the 
tall  Bohemian  goblets  rang  out  loudly  like  a  bell;  and 
alarmed  by  the  bigness  of  the  ticking,  he  was  tempted 
to  stop  the  clocks.  And  then,  again,  with  a  swift  transi- 
tion of  his  terrors,  the  very  silence  of  the  place  appeared 
a  source  of  peril,  and  a  thing  to  strike  and  freeze  the 
passer-by ;  and  he  would  step  more  boldly,  and  bustle 
aloud  among  the  contents  of  the  shop,  and  imitate,  with 
elaborate  bravado,  the  movements  of  a  busy  man  at  ease 
in  his  own  house. 

But  he  was  now  so  pulled  about  by  different  alarms 
that,  while  one  portion  of  his  mind  was  still  alert  and 
cunning,  another  trembled  on  the  brink  of  lunacy.  One 
hallucination  in  particular  took  a  strong  hold  on  his  cre- 
dulity. The  neighbour  hearkening  with  white  face  be- 
side his  window,  the  passer-by  arrested  by  a  horrible 
surmise  on  the  pavement  —  these  could  at  worst  sus- 
pect, they  could  not  know;  through  the  brick  walls  and 
shuttered  windows  only  sounds  could  penetrate.  But 
here,  within  the  house,  was  he  alone  ?  He  knew  he 
was ;  he  had  watched  the  servant  set  forth  sweetheart- 
ing,  in  her  poor  best,  **  out  for  the  day  "  written  in  every 
ribbon  and  smile.  Yes,  he  was  alone,  of  course;  and 
yet,  in  the  bulk  of  empty  house  above  him,  he  could 
surely  hear  a  stir  of  delicate  footing  —  he  was  surely 
conscious,  inexplicably  conscious  of  some  presence. 
Ay,  surely ;  to  every  room  and  corner  of  the  house  his 
imagination  followed  it;  and  now  it  was  a  faceless 
thing,  and  yet  had  eyes  to  see  with ;  and  again  it  was  a 
shadow  of  himself;  and  yet  again  behold  the  image  of 
the  dead  dealer,  reinspired  with  cunning  and  hatred. 


MARKHEIM 

At  times,  with  a  strong  effort,  he  would  glance  at 
the  open  door  which  still  seemed  to  repel  his  eyes. 
The  house  was  tall,  the  skylight  small  and  dirty,  the 
day  blind  with  fog;  and  the  light  that  filtered  down  to 
the  ground  story  was  exceedingly  faint,  and  showed 
dimly  on  the  threshold  of  the  shop.  And  yet,  in  that 
strip  of  doubtful  brightness,  did  there  not  hang  waver- 
ing a  shadow  ? 

Suddenly,  from  the  street  outside,  a  very  jovial  gentle- 
man began  to  beat  with  a  staff  on  the  shop-door,  accom- 
panying his  blows  with  shouts  and  railleries  in  which 
the  dealer  was  continually  called  upon  by  name.  Mark- 
heim,  smitten  into  ice  glanced  at  the  dead  man.  But 
no !  he  lay  quite  still ;  he  was  fled  away  far  beyond  ear- 
shot of  these  blows  and  shoutings ;  he  was  sunk  beneath 
seas  of  silence;  and  his  name,  which  would  once  have 
caught  his  notice  above  the  howling  of  a  storm,  had  be- 
come an  empty  sound.  And  presently  the  jovial  gentle- 
man desisted  from  his  knocking  and  departed. 

Here  was  a  broad  hint  to  hurry  what  remained  to  be 
done,  to  get  forth  from  this  accusing  neighbourhood, 
to  plunge  into  a  bath  of  London  multitudes,  and  to 
reach,  on  the  other  side  of  day,  that  haven  of  safety  and 
apparent  innocence  —  his  bed.  One  visitor  had  come: 
at  any  moment  another  might  follow  and  be  more  ob- 
stinate. To  have  done  the  deed,  and  yet  not  to  reap 
the  profit,  would  be  too  abhorrent  a  failure.  The  money, 
that  was  now  Markheim's  concern ;  and  as  a  means  to 
that,  the  keys. 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  the  open  door,  where 
the  shadow  was  still  lingering  and  shivering;  and  with 
no  conscious  repugnance  of  the  mind,  yet  with  a  tremour 

112 


MARKHEIM 

of  the  belly,  he  drew  near  the  body  of  his  victim.  The 
human  character  had  quite  departed.  Like  a  suit  half- 
stuffed  with  bran,  the  limbs  lay  scattered,  the  trunk 
doubled,  on  the  floor;  and  yet  the  thing  repelled  him. 
Although  so  dingy  and  inconsiderable  to  the  eye,  he 
feared  it  might  have  more  significance  to  the  touch.  He 
took  the  body  by  the  shoulders,  and  turned  it  on  its  back. 
It  was  strangely  light  and  supple,  and  the  limbs,  as  if 
they  had  been  broken,  fell  into  the  oddest  postures.  The 
face  was  robbed  of  all  expression ;  but  it  was  as  pale  as 
wax,  and  shockingly  smeared  with  blood  about  one 
temple.  That  was,  for  Markheim,  the  one  displeasing 
circumstance.  It  carried  him  back,  upon  the  instant,  to 
a  certain  fair  day  in  a  fishers'  village:  a  gray  day,  a 
piping  wind,  a  crowd  upon  the  street,  the  blare  of 
brasses,  the  booming  of  drums,  the  nasal  voice  of  a 
ballad  singer;  and  a  boy  going  to  and  fro,  buried  over 
head  in  the  crowd  and  divided  between  interest  and  fear, 
until,  coming  out  upon  the  chief  place  of  concourse,  he 
beheld  a  booth  and  a  great  screen  with  pictures,  dis- 
mally designed,  garishly  coloured :  Brownrigg  with  her 
apprentice;  the  Mannings  with  their  murdered  guest; 
Weare  in  the  death-grip  of  Thurtell ;  and  a  score  be- 
sides of  famous  crimes.  The  thing  was  as  clear  as  an 
illusion ;  he  was  once  again  that  little  boy ;  he  was  look- 
ing once  again,  and  with  the  same  sense  of  physical 
revolt,  at  these  vile  pictures ;  he  was  still  stunned  by  the 
thumping  of  the  drums.  A  bar  of  that  day's  music  re- 
turned upon  his  memory;  and  at  that,  for  the  first  time, 
a  qualm  came  over  him,  a  breath  of  nausea,  a  sudden 
weakness  of  the  joints,  which  he  must  instantly  resist 
and  conquer. 

U3 


MARKHEIM 

He  judged  it  more  prudent  to  confront  than  to  flee 
from  these  considerations ;  looking  the  more  hardily  in 
the  dead  face,  bending  his  mind  to  realise  the  nature 
and  greatness  of  his  crime.  So  little  a  while  ago  that 
face  had  moved  with  every  change  of  sentiment,  that 
pale  mouth  had  spoken,  that  body  had  been  all  on  fire 
with  governable  energies;  and  now,  and  by  his  act,  that 
piece  of  life  had  been  arrested,  as  the  horologist,  with 
interjected  finger,  arrests  the  beating  of  the  clock.  So 
he  reasoned  in  vain ;  he  could  rise  to  no  more  remorse- 
ful consciousness ;  the  same  heart  which  had  shuddered 
before  the  painted  effigies  of  crime,  looked  on  its  reality 
unmoved.  At  best,  he  felt  a  gleam  of  pity  for  one  who 
had  been  endowed  in  vain  with  all  those  faculties  that 
can  make  the  world  a  garden  of  enchantment,  one  who 
had  never  lived  and  who  was  now  dead.  But  of  peni- 
tence, no,  not  a  tremour. 

With  that,  shaking  himself  clear  of  these  considera- 
tions, he  found  the  keys  and  advanced  towards  the  open 
door  of  the  shop.  Outside,  it  had  begun  to  rain  smart- 
ly ;  and  the  sound  of  the  shower  upon  the  roof  had 
banished  silence.  Like  some  dripping  cavern,  the 
chambers  of  the  house  were  haunted  by  an  incessant 
echoing,  which  filled  the  ear  and  mingled  with  the  tick- 
ing of  the  clocks.  And,  as  Markheim  approached  the 
door,  he  seemed  to  hear,  in  answer  to  his  own  cautious 
tread,  the  steps  of  another  foot  withdrawing  up  the 
stair.  The  shadow  still  palpitated  loosely  on  the 
threshold.  He  threw  a  ton's  weight  of  resolve  upon 
his  muscles,  and  drew  back  the  door. 

The  faint,  foggy  daylight  glimmered  dimly  on  the 
bare  floor  and  stairs ;  on  the  bright  suit  of  armour  post- 

114 


MARKHEIM 

ed,  halbert  in  hand,  upon  the  landing;  and  on  the  dark 
wood-carvings,  and  framed  pictures  that  hung  against 
the  yellow  panels  of  the  wainscot.  So  loud  was  the 
beating  of  the  rain  through  all  the  house  that,  in  Mark- 
heim's  ears,  it  began  to  be  distinguished  into  many 
different  sounds.  Footsteps  and  sighs,  the  tread  of 
regiments  marching  in  the  distance,  the  chink  of  money 
in  the  counting,  and  the  creaking  of  doors  held  stealthily 
ajar,  appeared  to  mingle  with  the  patter  of  the  drops 
upon  the  cupola  and  the  gushing  of  the  water  in  the 
pipes.  The  sense  that  he  was  not  alone  grew  upon 
him  to  the  verge  of  madness.  On  every  side  he  was 
haunted  and  begirt  by  presences.  He  heard  them  mov- 
ing in  the  upper  chambers ;  from  the  shop,  he  heard  the 
dead  man  getting  to  his  legs ;  and  as  he  began  with  a 
great  effort  to  mount  the  stairs,  feet  fled  quietly  before 
him  and  followed  stealthily  behind.  If  he  were  but 
deaf,  he  thought,  how  tranquilly  he  would  possess  his 
soul!  And  then  again,  and  hearkening  with  ever  fresh 
attention,  he  blessed  himself  for  that  unresting  sense 
which  held  the  outposts  and  stood  a  trusty  sentinel  upon 
his  life.  His  head  turned  continually  on  his  neck;  his 
eyes,  which  seemed  starting  from  their  orbits,  scouted 
on  every  side,  and  on  every  side  were  half-rewarded  as 
with  the  tail  of  something  nameless  vanishing.  The 
four-and-twenty  steps  to  the  first  floor  were  four-and- 
twenty  agonies. 

On  that  first  storey,  the  doors  stood  ajar,  three  of 
them  like  three  ambushes,  shaking  his  nerves  like  the 
throats  of  cannon.  He  could  never  again,  he  felt,  be 
sufficiently  immured  and  fortified  from  men's  observing 
eyes;  he  longed  to  be  home,  girt  in  by  walls,  buried 

"5 


MARKHEIM 

among  bedclothes,  and  invisible  to  all  but  God.  And 
at  that  thought  he  wondered  a  little,  recollecting  tales 
of  other  murderers  and  the  fear  they  were  said  to  enter- 
tain of  heavenly  avengers.  It  was  not  so,  at  least,  with 
him.  He  feared  the  laws  of  nature,  lest,  in  their  callous 
and  immutable  procedure,  they  should  preserve  some 
damning  evidence  of  his  crime.  He  feared  tenfold 
more,  with  a  slavish,  superstitious  terror,  some  scission 
in  the  continuity  of  man's  experience,  some  wilful  ille- 
gality of  nature.  He  played  a  game  of  skill,  depending 
on  the  rules,  calculating  consequence  from  cause;  and 
what  if  nature,  as  the  defeated  tyrant  overthrew  the 
chess-board,  should  break  the  mould  of  their  succes- 
sion ?  The  like  had  befallen  Napoleon  (so  writers  said) 
when  the  winter  changed  the  time  of  its  appearance. 
The  like  might  befall  Markheim :  the  solid  walls  might 
become  transparent  and  reveal  his  doings  like  those  of 
bees  in  a  glass  hive;  the  stout  planks  might  yield  under 
his  foot  like  quicksands  and  detain  him  in  their  clutch ; 
ay,  and  there  were  soberer  accidents  that  might  destroy 
him :  if,  for  instance,  the  house  should  fall  and  imprison 
him  beside  the  body  of  his  victim ;  or  the  house  next 
door  should  fly  on  fire,  and  the  firemen  invade  him  from 
all  sides.  These  things  he  feared ;  and,  in  a  sense,  these 
things  might  be  called  the  hands  of  God  reached  forth 
against  sin.  But  about  God  himself  he  was  at  ease ;  his 
act  was  doubtless  exceptional,  but  so  were  his  excuses, 
which  God  knew ;  it  was  there,  and  not  among  men, 
that  he  felt  sure  of  justice. 

When  he  had  got  safe  into  the  drawing-room,  and 
shut  the  door  behind  him,  he  was  aware  of  a  respite  from 
alarms.     The  room  was  quite  dismantled,  uncarpeted 

ii6 


MARKHEIM 

besides,  and  strewn  with  packing-cases  and  incongru- 
ous furniture;  several  great  pier-glasses,  in  which  he 
beheld  himself  at  various  angles,  like  an  actor  on  a  stage ; 
many  pictures,  framed  and  unframed,  standing,  with 
their  faces  to  the  wall;  a  fine  Sheraton  sideboard,  a 
cabinet  of  marquetry,  and  a  great  old  bed,  with  tapes- 
try hangings.  The  windows  opened  to  the  floor;  but 
by  great  good  fortune  the  lower  part  of  the  shutters  had 
been  closed,  and  this  concealed  him  from  the  neigh- 
bours. Here,  then,  Markheim  drew  in  a  packing-case 
before  the  cabinet,  and  began  to  search  among  the  keys. 
It  was  a  long  business,  for  there  were  many ;  and  it  was 
irksome,  besides;  for,  after  all,  there  might  be  nothing 
in  the  cabinet,  and  time  was  on  the  wing.  But  the 
closeness  of  the  occupation  sobered  him.  With  the  tail 
of  his  eye  he  saw  the  door — even  glanced  at  it  from 
time  to  time  directly,  like  a  besieged  commander  pleased 
to  verify  the  good  estate  of  his  defences.  But  in  truth 
he  was  at  peace.  The  rain  falling  in  the  street  sounded 
natural  and  pleasant.  Presently,  on  the  other  side,  the 
notes  of  a  piano  were  wakened  to  the  music  of  a  hymn, 
and  the  voices  of  many  children  took  up  the  air  and 
words.  How  stately,  how  comfortable  was  the  mel- 
ody !  How  fresh  the  youthful  voices !  Markheim  gave 
ear  to  it  smilingly,  as  he  sorted  out  the  keys;  and  his 
mind  was  thronged  with  answerable  ideas  and  images; 
church-going  children  and  the  pealing  of  the  high  or- 
gan ;  children  afield,  bathers  by  the  brookside,  ramblers 
on  the  brambly  common,  kite-fliers  in  the  windy  and 
cloud-navigated  sky;  and  then,  at  another  cadence  of 
the  hymn,  back  again  to  church,  and  the  somnolence 
of  summer  Sundays,  and  the  high  genteel  voice  of  the 

>»7 


MARKHEIM 

parson  (which  he  smiled  a  little  to  recall)  and  the  painted 
Jacobean  tombs,  and  the  dim  lettering  of  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments in  the  chancel. 

And  as  he  sat  thus,  at  once  busy  and  absent,  he  was 
startled  to  his  feet.  A  flash  of  ice,  a  flash  of  fire,  a 
bursting  gush  of  blood,  went  over  him,  and  then  he 
stood  transfixed  and  thrilling.  A  step  mounted  the 
stair  slowly  and  steadily,  and  presently  a  hand  was  laid 
upon  the  knob,  and  the  lock  clicked,  and  the  door 
opened. 

Fear  held  Markheim  in  a  vice.  What  to  expect  he 
knew  not,  whether  the  dead  man  walking,  or  the  offi- 
cial ministers  of  human  justice,  or  some  chance  witness 
blindly  stumbling  in  to  consign  him  to  the  gallows. 
But  when  a  face  was  thrust  into  the  aperture,  glanced 
round  the  room,  looked  at  him,  nodded  and  smiled  as 
if  in  friendly  recognition,  and  then  withdrew  again,  and 
the  door  closed  behind  it,  his  fear  broke  loose  from  his 
control  in  a  hoarse  cry.  At  the  sound  of  this  the  visitant 
returned. 

"Did  you  call  me.^"  he  asked,  pleasantly,  and  with 
that  he  entered  the  room  and  closed  the  door  behind 
him. 

Markheim  stood  and  gazed  at  him  with  all  his  eyes. 
Perhaps  there  was  a  film  upon  his  sight,  but  the  out- 
lines of  the  new  comer  seemed  to  change  and  waver 
like  those  of  the  idols  in  the  wavering  candle-light  of 
the  shop;  and  at  times  he  thought  he  knew  him ;  and  at 
times  he  thought  he  bore  a  likeness  to  himself;  and  al- 
ways, like  a  lump  of  living  terror,  there  lay  in  his  bosom 
the  conviction  that  this  thing  was  not  of  the  earth  and 
not  of  God. 

ii8 


MARKHEIM 

And  yet  the  creature  had  a  strange  air  of  the  com- 
monplace, as  he  stood  looking  on  Markheim  with  a 
smile;  and  when  he  added:  "You  are  looking  for  the 
money,  1  believe?"  it  was  in  the  tones  of  everyday 
politeness. 

Markheim  made  no  answer. 

'*!  should  warn  you,"  resumed  the  other,  ''that  the 
maid  has  left  her  sweetheart  earlier  than  usual  and  will 
soon  be  here.  If  Mr.  Markheim  be  found  in  this  house, 
I  need  not  describe  to  him  the  consequences." 

*'  You  know  me  ?"  cried  the  murderer. 

The  visitor  smiled.  "  You  have  long  been  a  favour- 
ite of  mine,"  he  said;  "and  I  have  long  observed  and 
often  sought  to  help  you." 

"  What  are  you  ?  "  cried  Markheim :  "the  devil  ?  " 

"What  I  maybe,"  returned  the  other,  "cannot  affect 
the  service  I  propose  to  render  you." 

"It  can,"  cried  Markheim;  "it  does!  Be  helped  by 
you  ?  No,  never;  not  by  you!  You  do  not  know  me 
yet;  thank  God,  you  do  not  know  me!" 

"I  know  you,"  replied  the  visitant,  with  a  sort  of 
kind  severity  or  rather  firmness.  "I  know  you  to  the 
soul." 

"  Know  me! "  cried  Markheim.  "Who  can  do  so  ? 
My  life  is  but  a  travesty  and  slander  on  myself.  I  have 
lived  to  belie  my  nature.  All  men  do ;  all  men  are  bet- 
ter than  this  disguise  that  grows  about  and  stifles  them. 
You  see  each  dragged  away  by  life,  like  one  whom 
bravos  have  seized  and  muffled  in  a  cloak.  If  they  had 
their  own  control  —  if  you  could  see  their  faces,  they 
would  be  altogether  different,  they  would  shine  out  for 
heroes  and  saints!     I  am  worse  than  most;  my  self  is 


MARKHEIM 

more  overlaid ;  my  excuse  is  known  to  me  and  God. 
But,  had  I  the  time,  I  could  disclose  myself." 

'*To  me?"  inquired  the  visitant. 

"To  you  before  all,"  returned  the  murderer.  "I 
supposed  you  were  intelligent.  I  thought  —  since  you 
exist  —  you  would  prove  a  reader  of  the  heart.  And  yet 
you  would  propose  to  judge  me  by  my  acts !  Think  of 
it ;  my  acts !  1  was  born  and  1  have  lived  in  a  land  of 
giants;  giants  have  dragged  me  by  the  wrists  since  I 
was  born  out  of  my  mother  —  the  giants  of  circum- 
stance. And  you  would  judge  me  by  my  acts!  But 
can  you  not  look  within  ?  Can  you  not  understand 
that  evil  is  hateful  to  me  ?  Can  you  not  see  within  me 
the  clear  writing  of  conscience,  never  blurred  by  any 
wilful  sophistry,  although  too  often  disregarded  ?  Can 
you  not  read  me  for  a  thing  that  surely  must  be  com- 
mon as  humanity  —  the  unwilling  sinner?" 

"All  this  is  very  feelingly  expressed,"  was  the  reply, 
"but  it  regards  me  not.  These  points  of  consistency 
are  beyond  my  province,  and  I  care  not  in  the  least  by 
what  compulsion  you  may  have  been  dragged  away,  so 
is  you  are  but  carried  in  the  right  direction.  But  time 
flies;  the  servant  delays,  looking  in  the  faces  of  the 
crowd  and  at  the  pictures  on  the  hoardings,  but  still 
she  keeps  moving  nearer;  and  remember,  it  is  as  if  the 
gallows  itself  was  striding  towards  you  through  the 
Christmas  streets !  Shall  1  help  you ;  1,  who  know  all  ? 
Shall  I  tell  you  where  to  find  the  money  ?  " 

"  For  what  price  ?  "  asked  Markheim. 

"I  offer  you  the  service  for  a  Christmas  gift,"  re- 
turned the  other. 

Markheim  could  not  refrain  from  smiling  with  a  kind 


MARKHEIM 

of  bitter  triumph.  "No,"  said  he,  "I  will  take  noth- 
ing at  your  hands;  if  I  were  dying  of  thirst,  and  it  was 
your  hand  that  put  the  pitcher  to  my  lips,  1  should  find 
the  courage  to  refuse.  It  may  be  credulous,  but  I  will 
do  nothing  to  commit  myself  to  evil." 

*'  I  have  no  objection  to  a  death-bed  repentance,"  ob- 
served the  visitant. 

** Because  you  disbelieve  their  efficacy!"  Markheim 
cried. 

"1  do  not  say  so,"  returned  the  other;  "but  I  look 
on  these  things  from  a  different  side,  and  when  the  life 
is  done  my  interest  falls.  The  man  has  lived  to  serve 
me,  to  spread  black  looks  under  colour  of  religion,  or  to 
sow  tares  in  the  wheat-field,  as  you  do,  in  a  course  of 
weak  compliance  with  desire.  Now  that  he  draws  so 
near  to  his  deliverance,  he  can  add  but  one  act  of  ser- 
vice— to  repent,  to  die  smiling,  and  thus  to  build  up  in 
confidence  and  hope  the  more  timorous  of  my  surviving 
followers.  I  am  not  so  hard  a  master.  Try  me.  Ac- 
cept my  help.  Please  yourself  in  life  as  you  have  done 
hitherto;  please  yourself  more  amply,  spread  your  el- 
bows at  the  board;  and  when  the  night  begins  to  fall 
and  the  curtains  to  be  drawn,  1  tell  you,  for  your  greater 
comfort,  that  you  will  find  it  even  easy  to  compound 
your  quarrel  with  your  conscience,  and  to  make  a 
truckling  peace  with  God.  I  came  but  now  from  such 
a  death-bed,  and  the  room  was  full  of  sincere  mourners, 
listening  to  the  man's  last  words:  and  when  I  looked 
into  that  face,  which  had  been  set  as  a  flint  against 
mercy,  I  found  it  smiling  with  hope." 

"And  do  you,  then,  suppose  me  such  a  creature?" 
asked   Markheim.      "Do  you  think  I  have  no  more 


MARKHEIM 

generous  aspirations  than  to  sin,  and  sin,  and  sin,  and, 
at  last,  sneak  into  heaven  ?  My  heart  rises  at  the 
thought.  Is  this,  then,  your  experience  of  mankind  ? 
or  is  it  because  you  find  me  with  red  hands  that  you 
presume  such  baseness  ?  and  is  this  crime  of  murder 
indeed  so  impious  as  to  dry  up  the  very  springs  of 
good  ?" 

"Murder  is  to  me  no  special  category,"  replied  the 
other.  "All  sins  are  murder,  even  as  all  life  is  war. 
I  behold  your  race,  like  starving  mariners  on  a  raft, 
plucking  crusts  out  of  the  hands  of  famine  and  feeding 
on  each  other's  lives.  I  follow  sins  beyond  the  mo- 
ment of  their  acting;  I  find  in  all  that  the  last  conse- 
quence is  death ;  and  to  my  eyes,  the  pretty  maid  who 
thwarts  her  mother  with  such  taking  graces  on  a  ques- 
tion of  a  ball,  drips  no  less  visibly  with  human  gore 
than  such  a  murderer  as  yourself  Do  1  say  that  I  fol- 
low sins  ?  I  follow  virtues  also;  they  differ  not  by  the 
thickness  of  a  nail,  they  are  both  scythes  for  the  reap- 
ing angel  of  Death.  Evil,  for  which  I  live,  consists  not 
in  action  but  in  character.  The  bad  man  is  dear  to  me; 
not  the  bad  act,  whose  fruits,  if  we  could  follow  them 
far  enough  down  the  hurtling  cataract  of  the  ages,  might 
yet  be  found  more  blessed  than  those  of  the  rarest 
virtues.  And  it  is  not  because  you  have  killed  a  dealer, 
but  because  you  are  Markheim,  that  I  offered  to  forward 
your  escape." 

"I  will  lay  my  heart  open  to  you,"  answered  Mark- 
heim. "This  crime  on  which  you  find  me  is  my  last. 
On  my  way  to  it  1  have  learned  many  lessons ;  itself 
is  a  lesson,  a  momentous  lesson.  Hitherto  I  have  been 
driven  with  revolt  to  what  I  would  not ;  I  was  a  bond- 


MARKHEIM 

slave  to  poverty,  driven  and  scourged.  There  are  ro- 
bust virtues  that  can  stand  in  these  temptations;  mine 
was  not  so:  I  had  a  thirst  of  pleasure.  But  to-day, 
and  out  of  this  deed,  I  pluck  both  warning  and  riches  ^ — 
both  the  power  and  a  fresh  resolve  to  be  myself.  I  be- 
come in  all  things  a  free  actor  in  the  world ;  I  begin  to 
see  myself  all  changed,  these  hands  the  agents  of  good, 
this  heart  at  peace.  Something  comes  over  me  out  of 
the  past;  something  of  what  I  have  dreamed  on  Sab- 
bath evenings  to  the  sound  of  the  church  organ,  of 
what  I  forecast  when  1  shed  tears  over  noble  books,  or 
talked,  an  innocent  child,  with  my  mother.  There  lies 
my  life;  I  have  wandered  a  few  years,  but  now  I  see 
once  more  my  city  of  destination." 

**  You  are  to  use  this  money  on  the  Stock  Exchange, 
I  think  }  "  remarked  the  visitor;  "  and  there,  if  I  mistake 
not,  you  have  already  lost  some  thousands  }  " 

"Ah,"  said  Markheim,  "but  this  time  1  have  a  sure 
thing." 

"This  time,  again,  you  will  lose,"  replied  the  visitor 
quietly. 

"Ah,  but  I  keep  back  the  half! "  cried  Markheim. 

"That  also  you  will  lose,"  said  the  other. 

The  sweat  started  upon  Markheim's  brow.  "Well, 
then,  what  matter?"  he  exclaimed.  "Say  it  be  lost, 
say  I  am  plunged  again  in  poverty,  shall  one  part  of  me, 
and  that  the  worst,  continue  until  the  end  to  override 
the  better.^  Evil  and  good  run  strong  in  me,  haling 
me  both  ways.  I  do  not  love  the  one  thing,  I  love  all. 
I  can  conceive  great  deeds,  renunciations,  martyrdoms ; 
and  though  I  be  fallen  to  such  a  crime  as  murder,  pity 
is  no  stranger  to  my  thoughts.     I  pity  the  poor;  who 

123 


MARKHEIM 

knows  their  trials  better  than  myself?  I  pity  and  help 
them;  I  prize  love,  I  love  honest  laughter;  there  is  no 
good  thing  nor  true  thing  on  earth  but  I  love  it  from  my 
heart.  And  are  my  vices  only  to  direct  my  life,  and  my 
virtues  to  lie  without  effect,  like  some  passive  lumber 
of  the  mind  ?    Not  so;  good,  also,  is  a  spring  of  acts." 

But  the  visitant  raised  his  finger.  ''For  six-and- 
thirty  years  that  you  have  been  in  this  world,"  said  he, 
"through  many  changes  of  fortune  and  varieties  of 
humour,  I  have  watched  you  steadily  fall.  Fifteen 
years  ago  you  would  have  started  at  a  theft.  Three 
years  back  you  would  have  blenched  at  the  name  of 
murder.  Is  there  any  crime,  is  there  any  cruelty  or 
meanness,  from  which  you  still  recoil  ?  —  five  years  from 
now  I  shall  detect  you  in  the  fact !  Downward,  down- 
ward, lies  your  way ;  nor  can  anything  but  death  avail 
to  stop  you." 

"It  is  true,"  Markheim  said  huskily,  "I  have  in 
some  degree  complied  with  evil.  But  it  is  so  with  all : 
the  very  saints,  in  the  mere  exercise  of  living,  grow  less 
dainty,  and  take  on  the  tone  of  their  surroundings." 

"I  will  propound  to  you  one  simple  question,"  said 
the  other;  "  and  as  you  answer,  I  shall  read  to  you  your 
moral  horoscope.  You  have  grown  in  many  things 
more  lax ;  possibly  you  do  right  to  be  so ;  and  at  any 
account,  it  is  the  same  with  all  men.  But  granting  that, 
are  you  in  any  one  particular,  however  trifling,  more 
difficult  to  please  with  your  own  conduct,  or  do  you  go 
in  all  things  with  a  looser  rein  ?  " 

"  In  any  one  ?"  repeated  Markheim,  with  an  anguish 
of  consideration.  "No,"  he  added,  with  despair,  "in 
none!    I  have  gone  down  in  all." 

124 


MARKHEIM 

* 

**  Then,"  said  the  visitor,  "content  yourself  with  what 
you  are,  for  you  will  never  change ;  and  the  words  of 
your  part  on  this  stage  are  irrevocably  written  down." 

Markheim  stood  for  a  long  while  silent,  and  indeed  it 
was  the  visitor  who  first  broke  the  silence.  "That 
being  so,"  he  said,  "shall  1  show  you  the  money.?*" 

"And  grace?"  cried  Markheim. 

' '  Have  you  not  tried  it  .^  "  returned  the  other.  *  *  Two 
or  three  years  ago,  did  I  not  see  you  on  the  platform  of 
revival  meetings,  and  was  not  your  voice  the  loudest  in 
the  hymn.^" 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Markheim ;  "  and  I  see  clearly  what 
remains  for  me  by  way  of  duty.  I  thank  you  for  these 
lessons  from  my  soul ;  my  eyes  are  opened,  and  I  behold 
myself  at  last  for  what  I  am." 

At  this  moment,  the  sharp  note  of  the  door-bell  rang 
through  the  house ;  and  the  visitant,  as  though  this  were 
some  concerted  signal  for  which  he  had  been  waiting, 
changed  at  once  in  his  demeanour. 

"The maid!  "  he  cried.  "She  has  returned,  as  I  fore- 
warned you,  and  there  is  now  before  you  one  more  diffi- 
cult passage.  Her  master,  you  must  say,  is  ill;  you  must 
let  her  in,  with  an  assured  but  rather  serious  countenance 
—  no  smiles,  no  overacting,  and  I  promise  you  success! 
Once  the  girl  within,  and  the  door  closed,  the  same  dex- 
terity that  has  already  rid  you  of  the  dealer  will  relieve 
you  of  this  last  danger  in  your  path.  Thenceforward 
you  have  the  whole  evening  —  the  whole  night,  if  need- 
ful —  to  ransack  the  treasures  of  the  house  and  to  make 
good  your  safety.  This  is  help  that  comes  to  you  with 
the  mask  of  danger.  Up !  "  he  cried :  "up,  friend ;  your 
life  hangs  trembling  in  the  scales:  up,  and  act!  " 

125 


MARKHEIM 

Markheim  steadily  regarded  his  counsellor.  "  If  I  be 
condemned  to  evil  acts,"  he  said,  "there  is  still  one 
door  of  freedom  open  —  I  can  cease  from  action.  If  my 
life  be  an  ill  thing,  I  can  lay  it  down.  Though  I  be,  as 
you  say  truly,  at  the  beck  of  every  small  temptation,  I 
can  yet,  by  one  decisive  gesture,  place  myself  beyond 
the  reach  of  all.  My  love  of  good  is  damned  to  barren- 
ness; it  may,  and  let  it  be!  But  1  have  still  my  hatred 
of  evil ;  and  from  that,  to  your  galling  disappointment, 
you  shall  see  that  I  can  draw  both  energy  and  courage." 

The  features  of  the  visitor  began  to  undergo  a  won- 
derful and  lovely  change :  they  brightened  and  softened 
with  a  tender  triumph ;  and,  even  as  they  brightened, 
faded  and  dislimned.  But  Markheim  did  not  pause  to 
watch  or  understand  the  transformation.  He  opened 
the  door  and  went  downstairs  very  slowly,  thinking  to 
himself.  His  past  went  soberly  before  him ;  he  beheld 
it  as  it  was,  ugly  and  strenuous  like  a  dream,  random  as 
chance-medley  —  a  scene  of  defeat.  Life,  as  he  thus  re- 
viewed it,  tempted  him  no  longer;  but  on  the  further 
side  he  perceived  a  quiet  haven  for  his  bark.  He  paused 
in  the  passage,  and  looked  into  the  shop,  where  the 
candle  still  burned  by  the  dead  body.  It  was  strangely 
silent.  Thoughts  of  the  dealer  swarmed  into  his  mind, 
as  he  stood  gazing.  And  then  the  bell  once  more  broke 
out  into  impatient  clamour. 

He  confronted  the  maid  upon  the  threshold  with 
something  like  a  smile. 

**  You  had  better  go  for  the  police,"  said  he:  "  I  have 
killed  your  master." 


126 


THRAWN  JANET 

THE  Reverend  Murdoch  Soulis  was  long  minister  of 
the  moorland  parish  of  Balweary,  in  the  vale  of 
Dule.  A  severe,  bleak-faced  old  man,  dreadful  to  his 
hearers,  he  dwelt  in  the  last  years  of  his  life,  without 
relative  or  servant  or  any  human  company,  in  the  small 
and  lonely  manse  under  the  Hanging  Shaw.  In  spite 
of  the  iron  composure  of  his  features,  his  eye  was  wild, 
scared,  and  uncertain ;  and  when  he  dwelt,  in  private 
admonitions,  on  the  future  of  the  impenitent,  it  seemed 
as  if  his  eye  pierced  through  the  storms  of  time  to  the 
terrors  of  eternity.  Many  young  persons,  coming  to 
prepare  themselves  against  the  season  of  the  Holy  Com- 
munion, were  dreadfully  affected  by  his  talk.  He  had 
a  sermon  on  ist  Peter,  v.  and  8th,  "The  devil  as  a 
roaring  lion,"  on  the  Sunday  after  every  seventeenth  of 
August,  and  he  was  accustomed  to  surpass  himself 
upon  that  text  both  by  the  appalling  nature  of  the 
matter  and  the  terror  of  his  bearing  in  the  pulpit.  The 
children  were  frightened  into  fits,  and  the  old  looked 
more  than  usually  oracular,  and  were,  all  that  day,  full 
of  those  hints  that  Hamlet  deprecated.  The  manse 
itself,  where  it  stood  by  the  water  of  Dule  among  some 
thick  trees,  with  the  Shaw  overhanging  it  on  the  one 

127 


THRAWN  JANET 

side,  and  on  the  other  many  cold,  moorish  hill-tops  ris- 
ing towards  the  sky,  had  begun,  at  a  very  early  period 
of  Mr.  Soulis's  ministry,  to  be  avoided  in  the  dusk  hours 
by  all  who  valued  themselves  upon  their  prudence;  and 
guidmen  sitting  at  the  clachan  alehouse  shook  their  heads 
together  at  the  thought  of  passing  late  by  that  uncanny 
neighbourhood.  There  was  one  spot,  to  be  more  par- 
ticular, which  was  regarded  with  especial  awe.  The 
manse  stood  between  the  high  road  and  the  water  of 
Dule,  with  a  gable  to  each ;  its  back  was  towards  the 
kirktown  of  Balweary,  nearly  half  a  mile  away ;  in  front 
of  it,  a  bare  garden,  hedged  with  thorn,  occupied  the 
land  between  the  river  and  the  road.  The  house  was 
two  stories  high,  with  two  large  rooms  on  each.  It 
opened  not  directly  on  the  garden,  but  on  a  causewayed 
path,  or  passage,  giving  on  the  road  on  the  one  hand, 
and  closed  on  the  other  by  the  tall  willows  and  elders 
that  bordered  on  the  stream.  And  it  was  this  strip  of 
causeway  that  enjoyed  among  the  young  parishioners 
of  Balweary  so  infamous  a  reputation.  The  minister 
walked  there  often  after  dark,  sometimes  groaning  aloud 
in  the  instancy  of  his  unspoken  prayers;  and  when  he 
was  from  home,  and  the  manse  door  was  locked,  the 
more  daring  schoolboys  ventured,  with  beating  hearts, 
to  ** follow  my  leader"  across  that  legendary  spot. 

This  atmosphere  of  terror,  surrounding,  as  it  did,  a 
man  of  God  of  spotless  character  and  orthodoxy,  was  a 
common  cause  of  wonder  and  subject  of  inquiry  among 
the  few  strangers  who  were  led  by  chance  or  business 
into  that  unknown,  outlying  country.  But  many  even 
of  the  people  of  the  parish  were  ignorant  of  the  strange 
events  which  had  marked  the  first  year  of  Mr.  Soulis's 

128 


THRAWN  JANET 

ministrations;  and  among  those  who  were  better  in- 
formed, some  were  naturally  reticent,  and  others  shy  of 
that  particular  topic.  Now  and  again,  only,  one  of  the 
older  folk  would  warm  into  courage  over  his  third 
tumbler,  and  recount  the  cause  of  the  minister's  strange 
looks  and  solitary  life. 

Fifty  years  syne,  when  Mr.  Soulis  cam'  first  into  Ba'- 
weary,  he  was  still  a  young  man  —  a  callant,  the  folk 
said  —  fu'  o'  book  learnin'  and  grand  at  the  exposition, 
but,  as  was  natural  in  sae  young  a  man,  wi'  nae  leevin* 
experience  in  religion.  The  younger  sort  were  greatly 
taken  wi'  his  gifts  and  his  gab;  but  auld,  concerned, 
serious  men  and  women  were  moved  even  to  prayer  for 
the  young  man,  whom  they  took  to  be  a  self-deceiver, 
and  the  parish  that  was  like  to  be  sae  ill-supplied.  It 
was  before  the  days  o'  the  moderates  —  weary  fa'  them; 
but  ill  things  are  like  guid  —  they  baith  come  bit  by  bit, 
a  pickle  at  a  time;  and  there  were  folk  even  then  that 
said  the  Lord  had  left  the  college  professors  to  their  ain 
devices,  an'  the  lads  that  went  to  study  wi'  them  wad 
hae  done  mair  and  better  sittin'  in  a  peat-bog,  like  their 
forbears  of  the  persecution,  wi'  a  Bible  under  their  oxter 
and  a  speerit  o'  prayer  in  their  heart.  There  was  nae 
doubt,  ony way,  but  that  Mr.  Soulis  had  been  ower  lang 
at  the  college.  He  was  careful  and  troubled  for  mony 
things  besides  the  ae  thing  needful.  He  had  a  feck  o' 
books  wi'  him  —  mair  than  had  ever  been  seen  before 
in  a'  that  presbytery ;  and  a  sair  wark  the  carrier  had  wi' 
them,  for  they  were  a'  like  to  have  smoored  in  the  Deil's 
Hag  between  this  and  Kilmackerlie.  They  were  books 
o'  divinity,  to  be  sure,  or  so  they  ca'd  them;  but  the 

129 


THRAWN  JANET 

serious  were  o'  opinion  there  was  little  service  for  sae 
mony,  when  the  hail  o'  God's  Word  would  gang  in  the 
neuk  of  a  plaid.  Then  he  wad  sit  half  the  day  and  half 
the  nicht  forbye,  which  was  scant  decent  —  writin',  nae 
less;  and  first,  they  were  feared  he  wad  read  his  ser- 
mons ;  and  syne  it  proved  he  was  writin'  a  book  himsel', 
which  was  surely  no  fittin'  for  ane  of  his  years  and  sma' 
experience. 

Onyway  it  behoved  him  to  get  an  auld,  decent  wife 
to  keep  the  manse  for  him  an'  see  to  his  bit  denners; 
and  he  was  recommended  to  an  auld  limmer  —  Janet 
M'Clour,  they  ca'ed  her  —  and  sae  far  left  to  himsel'  as 
to  be  ower  persuaded.  There  was  mony  advised  him 
to  the  contrar,  for  Janet  was  mair  than  suspeckit  by  the 
best  folk  in  Ba'weary.  Lang  or  that,  she  had  had  a 
wean  to  a  dragoon ;  she  hadnae  come  forrit  ^  for  maybe 
thretty  year;  and  bairns  had  seen  her  mumblin'  to  her- 
sel'  up  on  Key's  Loan  in  the  gloamin',  whilk  was  an 
unco  time  an'  place  for  a  God-fearin'  woman.  Howso- 
ever, it  was  the  laird  himsel'  that  had  first  tauld  the 
minister  o'  Janet;  and  in  thae  days  he  wad  have  gane  a 
far  gate  to  pleesure  the  laird.  When  folk  tauld  him 
that  Janet  was  sib  to  the  deil,  it  was  a'  superstition  by 
his  way  of  it;  an'  when  they  cast  up  the  Bible  to  him 
an'  the  witch  of  Endor,  he  wad  threep  it  doun  their 
thrapples  that  thir  days  were  a'  gane  by,  and  the  deil 
was  mercifully  restrained. 

Weel,  when  it  got  about  the  clachan  that  Janet 
M'Clour  was  to  be  servant  at  the  manse,  the  folk  were 
fair  mad  wi'  her  an'  him  thegether;  and  some  o'  the 
guidwives  had  nae  better  to  dae  than  get  round  her 

1  To  come  forrit  —  to  offer  oneself  as  a  communicant. 
130 


THRAWN  JANET 

door  cheeks  and  chairge  her  wi'  a'  that  was  ken't  again 
her,  frae  the  sodger's  bairn  to  John  Tamson's  twa  kye. 
She  was  nae  great  speaker;  folk  usually  let  her  gang  her 
ain  gate,  an'  she  let  them  gang  theirs,  wi'  neither  Fair- 
guid-een  nor  Fair-guid-day ;  but  when  she  buckled  to, 
she  had  a  tongue  to  deave  the  miller.  Up  she  got,  an' 
there  wasnae  an  auld  story  in  Ba'weary  but  she  gart 
somebody  lowp  for  it  that  day;  they  couldnae  say  ae 
thing  but  she  could  say  twa  to  it;  till,  at  the  hinder  end, 
the  guidwives  up  and  claught  baud  of  her,  and  clawed 
the  coats  aff  her  back,  and  pu'd  her  doun  the  clachan 
to  the  water  o'  Dule,  to  see  if  she  were  a  witch  or  no, 
soum  or  droun.  The  carline  skirled  till  ye  could  hear 
her  at  the  Hangin'  Shaw,  and  she  focht  like  ten ;  there 
was  mony  a  guidwife  bure  the  mark  of  her  neist  day  an' 
mony  a  lang  day  after;  and  just  in  the  hettest  o'  the  col- 
lieshangie,  wha  suld  come  up  (for  his  sins)  but  the  new 
minister. 

*' Women,"  said  he  (and  he  had  a  grand  voice),  "I 
charge  you  in  the  Lord's  name  to  let  her  go." 

Janet  ran  to  him  —  she  was  fair  wud  wi'  terror  —  an' 
clang  to  him,  an'  prayed  him,  for  Christ's  sake,  save 
her  frae  the  cummers;  an'  they,  for  their  pairt,  tauld 
him  a'  that  was  ken't,  and  maybe  mair. 

**  Woman,"  says  he  to  Janet,  *Ms  this  true.?" 

**  As  the  Lord  sees  me,"  says  she,  **as  the  Lord  made 
me,  no  a  word  o't.  Forbye  the  bairn,"  says  she,  "I've 
been  a  decent  woman  a'  my  days." 

"Will  you,"  says  Mr.  Soulis,  "in  the  name  of  God, 
and  before  me,  His  unworthy  minister,  renounce  the 
devil  and  his  works  ?  " 

Weel,  it  wad  appear  that  when  he  askit  that,  she 

«3i 


THRAWN  JANET 

gave  a  girn  that  fairly  frichtit  them  that  saw  her,  an' 
they  could  hear  her  teeth  play  dirl  thegether  in  her 
chafts ;  but  there  was  naething  for  it  but  the  ae  way  or 
the  ither;  an' Janet  lifted  up  her  hand  and  renounced 
the  deil  before  them  a'. 

**And  now,"  says  Mr.  Soulis  to  the  guid wives, 
"home  with  ye,  one  and  all,  and  pray  to  God  for  His 
forgiveness." 

And  he  gied  Janet  his  arm,  though  she  had  little  on 
her  but  a  sark,  and  took  her  up  the  clachan  to  her  ain 
door  like  a  leddy  of  the  land ;  an'  her  scrieghin'  and 
laughin'  as  was  a  scandal  to  be  heard. 

There  were  mony  grave  folk  lang  ower  their  prayers 
that  nicht;  but  when  the  morn  cam'  there  was  sic  a 
fear  fell  upon  a'  Ba'weary  that  the  bairns  hid  theirsels, 
and  even  the  men  folk  stood  and  keekit  frae  their  doors. 
For  there  was  Janet  comin'  doun  the  clachan  —  her  or 
her  likeness,  nane  could  tell  —  wi'  her  neck  thrawn,  and 
her  heid  on  ae  side,  like  a  body  that  has  been  hangit, 
and  a  girn  on  her  face  like  an  unstreakit  corp.  By  an' 
by  they  got  used  wi'  it,  and  even  speered  at  her  to  ken 
what  was  wrang ;  but  frae  that  day  forth  she  couldnae 
speak  like  a  Christian  woman,  but  slavered  and  played 
click  wi'  her  teeth  like  a  pair  o'  shears;  and  frae  that 
day  forth  the  name  o'  God  cam'  never  on  her  lips. 
Whiles  she  wad  try  to  say  it,  but  it  michtnae  be. 
Them  that  kenned  best  said  least;  but  they  never  gied 
that  Thing  the  name  o'  Janet  M'Clour;  for  the  auld 
Janet,  by  their  way  o't,  was  in  muckle  hell  that  day. 
But  the  minister  was  neither  to  baud  nor  to  bind;  he 
preached  about  naething  but  the  folk's  cruelty  that  had 
gi'en  her  a  stroke  of  the  palsy ;  he  skelpt  the  bairns  that 

132 


THRAWN  JANET 

meddled  her;  and  he  had  her  up  to  the  manse  that 
same  nicht,  and  dwalled  there  a'  his  lane  wi'  her  under 
the  Hangin'  Shaw. 

Weel,  time  gaed  by :  and  the  idler  sort  commenced 
to  think  mair  lichtly  o'  that  black  business.  The  min- 
ister was  weel  thocht  o' ;  he  was  aye  late  at  the  writing, 
folk  wad  see  his  can'le  doon  by  the  Dule  water  after 
twal'  at  e'en ;  and  he  seemed  pleased  wi'  himsel'  and 
upsitten  as  at  first,  though  a'  body  could  see  that  he  was 
dwining.  As  for  Janet  she  cam'  an'  she  gaed ;  if  she  did- 
nae  speak  muckle  afore,  it  was  reason  she  should  speak 
less  then ;  she  meddled  naebody ;  but  she  was  an  eldritch 
thing  to  see,  an'  nane  wad  hae  mistrysted  wi'  her  for 
Ba' weary  glebe. 

About  the  end  o'  July  there  cam'  a  spell  o'  weather, 
the  like  o't  never  was  in  that  countryside;  it  was  lown 
an'  het  an'  heartless;  the  herds  couldnae  win  up  the 
Black  Hill,  the  bairns  were  ower  weariet  to  play;  an' 
yet  it  was  gousty  too,  wi'  claps  o'  het  wund  that  rum- 
mled  in  the  glens,  and  bits  o'  shouers  that  slockened 
naething.  We  aye  thocht  it  but  to  thun'er  on  the 
morn;  but  the  morn  cam',  an' the  morn's  morning,  and 
it  was  aye  the  same  uncanny  weather,  sair  on  folks  and 
bestial.  Of  a'  that  were  the  waur,  nane  suffered  like 
Mr.  Soulis;  he  could  neither  sleep  nor  eat,  he  tauld  his 
elders;  an'  when  he  wasnae  writin'  at  his  weary  book, 
he  wad  be  stravaguin'  ower  a'  the  countryside  like  a  man 
possessed,  when  a'  body  else  was  blythe  to  keep  caller 
ben  the  house. 

Abune  Hangin'  Shaw,  in  the  bield  o'  the  Black  Hill, 
there's  a  bit  enclosed  grund  wi'  an  iron  yett;  and  it 
seems,  in  the  auld  days,  that  was  the  kirkyaird  o'  Ba'- 

»33 


THRAWN  JANET 

weary,  and  consecrated  by  the  Papists  before  the  blessed 
licht  shone  upon  the  kingdom.  It  was  a  great  howff, 
o'  Mr.  Soulis's  onyway ;  there  he  would  sit  an'  consider 
his  sermons;  and  inded  it's  a  bieldy  bit.  Weel,  as  he 
cam'  ower  the  wast  end  o'  the  Black  Hill,  ae  day,  he 
saw  first  twa,  an'  syne  fower,  an'  syne  seeven  corbie 
craws  fleein'  round  an'  round  abune  the  auld  kirkyaird. 
They  flew  laigh  and  heavy,  an'  squawked  to  ither  as 
they  gaed ;  and  it  was  clear  to  Mr.  Soulis  that  something 
had  put  them  frae  their  ordinar.  He  wasnae  easy 
fleyed,  an'  gaed  straucht  up  to  the  wa's;  and  what  suld 
he  find  there  but  a  man,  or  the  appearance  of  a  man, 
sittin'  in  the  inside  upon  a  grave.  He  was  of  a  great 
stature,  an'  black  as  hell,  and  his  e'en  were  singular  to 
see.^  Mr.  Soulis  had  heard  tell  o'  black  men,  mony's 
the  time;  but  there  was  something  unco  about  this 
black  man  that  daunted  him.  Het  as  he  was,  he  took  a 
kind  o'  cauld  grue  in  the  marrow  o'  his  banes ;  but  up 
he  spak  for  a'  that;  an'  says  he:  *'  My  friend,  are  you  a 
stranger  in  this  place?"  The  black  man  answered 
never  a  word ;  he  got  upon  his  feet,  an'  begude  to  hirsle 
to  the  wa'  on  the  far  side;  but  he  aye  lookit  at  the  min- 
ister; an'  the  minister  stood  an'  lookit  back;  till  a'  in  a 
meenute  the  black  man  was  ower  the  wa'  an'  rinnin'  for 
the  bield  o'  the  trees.  Mr.  Soulis,  he  hardly  kenned 
why,  ran  after  him;  but  he  was  sair  forjaskit  wi'  his 
walk  an'  the  het,  unhalesome  weather;  and  rin  as  he 
likit,  he  got  nae  mair  than  a  glisk  o'  the  black  man 
amang  the  birks,  till  he  won  doun  to  the  foot  o*  the 

1  It  was  a  common  belief  in  Scotland  that  the  devil  appeared  as  a 
black  man.  This  appears  in  several  witch  trials  and  1  think  in  Law's 
Memorials,  that  delightful  store-house  of  the  quaint  and  grisly. 

134 


THRAWN  JANET 

hillside,  an'  there  he  saw  him  ance  mair,  gaun,  hap, 
step,  an'  lowp,  ower  Dule  water  to  the  manse. 

Mr.  Soulis  wasnae  weel  pleased  that  this  fearsome 
gangrel  suld  mak'  sae  free  wi'  Ba' weary  manse;  an'  he 
ran  the  harder,  an'  wet  shoon,  owei'  the  burn,  an'  up 
the  walk;  but  the  deil  a  black  man  was  there  to  see. 
He  stepped  out  upon  the  road,  but  there  was  naebody 
there;  he  gaed  a'  ower  the  gairden,  but  na,  nae  black 
man.  At  the  hinder  end,  and  a  bit  feared  as  was  but 
natural,  he  lifted  the  hasp  and  into  the  manse;  and  there 
was  Janet  M'Clour  before  his  een,  wi'  her  thrawn  craig, 
and  nane  sae  pleased  to  see  him.  And  he  aye  minded 
sinsyne,  when  first  he  set  his  een  upon  her,  he  had  the 
same  cauld  and  deidly  grue. 

"Janet,"  says  he,  "  have  you  seen  a  black  man  ?" 

'*  A  black  man !  "  quo'  she.  "  Save  us  a' !  Ye're  no 
wise,  minister.     There's  nae  black  man  in  a'  Ba' weary." 

But  she  didnae  speak  plain,  ye  maun  understand;  but 
yam-yammered,  like  a  powny  wi'  the  bit  in  its  moo. 

"Weel,"says  he,  "Janet,  if  there  was  nae  black  man, 
I  have  spoken  with  the  Accuser  of  the  Brethren." 

And  he  sat  doun  like  ane  wi'  a  fever,  an'  his  teeth 
chittered  in  his  heid. 

"  Hoots,"  says  she,  "think  shame  to  yoursel',  minis- 
ter;" an'  gied  him  a  drap  brandy  that  she  keept  aye 
by  her. 

Syne  Mr.  Soulis  gaed  into  his  study  amang  a'  his 
books.  It's  a  lang,  laigh,  mirk  chalmer,  perishin'  cauld 
in  winter,  an'  no  very  dry  even  in  the  top  o'  the  sim- 
mer, for  the  manse  stands  near  the  burn.  Sae  doun 
he  sat,  and  thocht  of  a'  that  had  come  an'  gane  since 
he  was  in  Ba'weary,  an'  his  hame,  an'  the  days  when  he 

•35 


THRAWN  JANET 

was  a  bairn  an'  ran  daffin'  on  the  braes ;  and  that  black 
man  aye  ran  in  his  heid  like  the  owercome  of  a  sang. 
Aye  the  mair  he  thocht,  the  mair  he  thocht  o'  the  black 
man.  He  tried  the  prayer,  an'  the  words  wouldnae 
come  to  him ;  an'  he  tried,  they  say,  to  write  at  his  book, 
but  he  couldnae  mak'  nae  mair  o'  that.  There  was 
whiles  he  thocht  the  black  man  was  at  his  oxter,  an' 
the  swat  stood  upon  him  cauld  as  well-water;  and 
there  was  other  whiles,  when  he  cam'  to  himsel'  like  a 
christened  bairn  and  minded  naething. 

The  upshot  was  that  he  gaed  to  the  window  an' 
stood  glowrin'  at  Dule  water.  The  trees  are  unco 
thick,  an'  the  water  lies  deep  an'  black  under  the  manse ; 
and  there  was  Janet  washin'  the  cla'es  wi'  her  coats 
kilted.  She  had  her  back  to  the  minister,  an'  he,  for 
his  pairt,  hardly  kenned  what  he  was  lookin'  at.  Syne 
she  turned  round,  an'  shawed  her  face;  Mr.  Soulis  had 
the  same  cauld  grue  as  twice  that  day  afore,  an'  it  was 
borne  in  upon  him  what  folk  said,  that  Janet  was  deid 
lang  syne,  an'  this  was  a  bogle  in  her  clay-cauld  flesh. 
He  drew  back  a  pickle  and  he  scanned  her  narrowly. 
She  was  tramp-trampin'  in  the  cla'es,  croonin'  to  her- 
sel';  and  eh!  Gude  guide  us,  but  it  was  a  fearsome 
face.  Whiles  she  sang  louder,  but  there  was  nae  man 
born  o'  woman  that  could  tell  the  words  o'  her  sang; 
an'  whiles  she  lookit  side-lang  doun,  but  there  was 
naething  there  for  her  to  look  at.  There  gaed  a  scunner 
through  the  flesh  upon  his  banes ;  and  that  was  Heeven's 
advertisement.  But  Mr.  Soulis  just  blamed  himsel',  he 
said,  to  think  sae  ill  of  a  puir,  auld  afflicted  wife  that 
hadnae  a  freend  forbye  himsel';  an'  he  put  up  a  bit 
prayer  for  him  an'  her,  an'  drank  a  little  caller  water  — 

136 


THRAWN  JANET 

for  his  heart  rose  again  the  meat  —  an'  gaed  up  to  his 
naked  bed  in  the  gloaming. 

That  was  a  nicht  that  has  never  been  forgotten  in 
Ba' weary,  the  nicht  o'the  seeventeenth  of  August,  seven- 
teen hun'er'  an'  twal'.  It  had  been  het  afore,  as  I  hae 
said,  but  that  nicht  it  was  hetter  than  ever.  The  sun 
gaed  doun  amang  unco-lookin'  clouds;  it  fell  as  mirk  as 
the  pit;  no  a  star,  no  a  breath  o'  wund;  ye  couldnae 
see  your  han'  afore  your  face,  and  even  the  auld  folk 
cuist  the  covers  frae  their  beds  and  lay  pechin'  for  their 
breath.  Wi'  a'  that  he  had  upon  his  mind,  it  was  gey 
and  unlikely  Mr.  Soulis  wad  get  muckle  sleep.  He  lay 
an'  he  tummled;  the  gude,  caller  bed  that  he  got  into 
brunt  his  very  banes;  whiles  he  slept,  and  whiles  he 
waukened;  whiles  he  heard  the  time  o'  nicht,  and 
whiles  a  tyke  yowlin'  up  the  muir,  as  if  somebody  was 
deid ;  whiles  he  thocht  he  heard  bogles  claverin'  in  his 
lug,  an'  whiles  he  saw  spunkies  in  the  room.  He  be- 
hoved, he  judged,  to  be  sick;  an'  sick  he  was  —  little 
he  jaloosed  the  sickness. 

At  the  hinder  end,  he  got  a  clearness  in  his  mind,  sat 
up  in  his  sark  on  the  bed-side,  and  fell  thinkin'  ance 
mair  o'  the  black  man  an'  Janet.  He  couldnae  weel  tell 
how  —  maybe  it  was  the  cauld  to  his  feet  —  but  it  cam' 
in  upon  him  wi'  a  spate  that  there  was  some  connection 
between  thir  twa,  an'  that  either  or  baith  o'  them  were 
bogles.  And  just  at  that  moment,  in  Janet's  room, 
which  was  neist  to  his,  there  cam'  a  stramp  o'  feet  as  if 
men  were  wars'lin',  an'  then  a  loud  bang;  an'  then  a 
wund  gaed  reishling  round  the  fower  quarters  of  the 
house;  an'  then  a'  was  ance  mair  as  seelent  as  the 
grave. 

137 


THRAWN  JANET 

Mr.  Soulis  was  feared  for  neither  man  nor  deevil.  He 
got  his  tinder-box,  an'  lit  a  can'Ie,  an'  made  three  steps 
o't  ower  to  Janet's  door.  It  was  on  the  hasp,  an'  he 
pushed  it  open,  an'  keeked  bauldly  in.  It  was  a  big 
room,  as  big  as  the  minister's  ain,  an'  plenished  wi' 
grand,  auld,  solid  gear,  for  he  had  naething  else.  There 
was  a  fower-posted  bed  wi'  auld  tapestry ;  and  a  braw 
cabinet  of  aik,  that  was  fu'  o'  the  minister's  divinity 
books,  an'  put  there  to  be  out  o'  the  gate;  an'  a  wheen 
duds  o'  Janet's  lying  here  and  there  about  the  floor. 
But  nae  Janet  could  Mr.  Soulis  see;  nor  ony  sign  of  a 
contention.  In  he  gaed  (an'  there's  few  that  wad  ha'e 
followed  him)  an'  lookit  a'  round,  an'  listened.  But 
there  was  naethin'  to  be  heard,  neither  inside  the  manse 
nor  in  a'  Ba'weary  parish,  an'  naethin'  to  be  seen  but 
the  muckle  shadows  turnin'  round  the  can'Ie.  An' 
then,  a'  at  ance,  the  minister's  heart  played  dunt  an' 
stood  stock-still;  an'  a  cauld  wund  blew  amang  the 
hairs  o'  his  heid.  Whaten  a  weary  sicht  was  that  for 
the  puir  man's  een !  For  there  was  Janet  hangin'  frae 
a  nail  beside  the  auld  aik  cabinet :  her  heid  aye  lay  on 
her  shouther,  her  een  were  steeked,  the  tongue  projeckit 
frae  her  mouth,  and  her  heels  were  twa  feet  clear  abune 
the  floor. 

"God  forgive  us  all!"  thocht  Mr.  Soulis,  "poor 
Janet's  dead." 

He  cam'  a  step  nearer  to  the  corp ;  an'  then  his  heart 
fair  whammled  in  his  inside.  For  by  what  cantrip  it 
wad  ill-beseem  a  man  to  judge,  she  was  hingin'  frae  a 
single  nail  an'  by  a  single  wursted  thread  for  darnin' 
hose. 

It's  an  awfu'  thing  to  be  your  lane  at  nicht  wi'  siccan 
138 


THRAWN  JANET 

prodigies  o'  darkness;  but  Mr.  Soulis  was  strong  in  the 
Lord.  He  turned  an'  gaed  his  ways  oot  o'  that  room, 
and  lockit  the  door  ahint  him;  and  step  by  step,  doon 
the  stairs,  as  heavy  as  leed ;  and  set  doon  the  can'le  on 
the  table  at  the  stairfoot.  He  couldnae  pray,  he  could- 
nae  think,  he  was  dreepin'  wi'  caul'  swat,  an'  naething 
could  he  hear  but  the  dunt-dunt-duntin'  o'  his  ain  heart. 
He  micht  maybe  have  stood  there  an  hour,  or  maybe 
twa,  he  minded  sae  little;  when  a'  o'  a  sudden,  he  heard 
a  laigh,  uncanny  steer  upstairs;  a  foot  gaed  to  an'  fro 
in  the  chalmer  whaur  the  corp  was  hingin';  syne  the 
door  was  opened,  though  he  minded  weel  that  he  had 
lockit  it;  an'  syne  there  was  a  step  upon  the  landin',  an' 
it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  corp  was  lookin'  ower  the  rail 
and  doun  upon  him  whaur  he  stood. 

He  took  up  the  can'le  again  (for  he  couldnae  want  the 
licht),  and  as  saftly  as  ever  he  could,  gaed  straucht  out 
o'  the  manse  an'  to  the  far  end  o'  the  causeway.  It  was 
aye  pit-mirk;  the  flame  o'  the  can'le,  when  he  set  it  on 
the  grund,  brunt  steedy  and  clear  as  in  a  room ;  nae- 
thing moved,  but  the  Dule  water  seepin'  and  sabbin' 
doon  the  glen,  an'  yon  unhaly  footstep  that  cam'  plod- 
din'  doun  the  stairs  inside  the  manse.  He  kenned  the 
foot  ower  weel,  for  it  was  Janet's;  and  at  ilka  step  that 
cam'  a  wee  thing  nearer,  the  cauld  got  deeper  in  his 
vitals.  He  commended  his  soul  to  Him  that  made  an' 
keepit  him;  " and O Lord,"  said  he,  "give  me  strength 
this  night  to  war  against  the  powers  of  evil." 

By  this  time  the  foot  was  comin'  through  the  passage 
for  the  door;  he  could  hear  a  hand  skirt  alang  the  wa', 
as  if  the  fearsome  thing  was  feelin*  for  its  way.  The 
saughs  tossed  an'  maned  thegether,  a  long  sigh  cam' 

139 


THRAWN  JANET 

ower  the  hills,  the  flame  o'  the  can'le  was  blawn  aboot; 
an'  there  stood  the  corp  of  Thrawn  Janet,  wi'  her  grog- 
ram  goun  an'  her  black  mutch,  wi'  the  held  aye  upon 
the  shouther,  an'  the  girn  still  upon  the  face  o't — leevin', 
ye  wad  hae  said  —  deid,  as  Mr.  Soulis  weel  kenned  — 
upon  the  threshold  o'  the  manse. 

It's  a  strange  thing  that  the  saul  of  man  should  be 
that  thirled  into  his  perishable  body ;  but  the  minister 
saw  that,  an'  his  heart  didnae  break. 

She  didnae  stand  there  lang;  she  began  to  move  again 
an'  cam'  slowly  towards  Mr.  Soulis  whaur  he  stood  under 
the  saughs.  A'  the  life  o'  his  body,  a'  the  strength  o' 
his  speerit,  were  glowerin'  frae  his  een.  It  seemed  she 
was  gaun  to  speak,  but  wanted  words,  an'  made  a  sign 
wi'  the  left  hand.  There  cam'  a  clap  o'  wund,  like  a 
cat's  fuff ;  oot  gaed  the  can'le,  the  saughs  skrieghed  like 
folk;  an'  Mr.  Soulis  kenned  that,  live  or  die,  this  was 
the  end  o't. 

''Witch,  beldame,  devil!"  he  cried,  "I  charge  you, 
by  the  power  of  God,  begone  —  if  you  be  dead,  to  the 
grave  —  if  you  be  damned,  to  hell." 

An'  at  that  moment  the  Lord's  ain  hand  out  o'  the 
Heevens  struck  the  Horror  whaur  it  stood;  the  auld, 
deid,  desecrated  corp  o'  the  witch-wife,  sae  lang  keepit 
frae  the  grave  and  hirsled  round  by  deils,  lowed  up  like 
a  brunstane  spunk  and  fell  in  ashes  \o  the  grund ;  the 
thunder  followed,  peal  on  dirling  peal,  the  rairing  rain 
upon  the  back  o'  that;  and  Mr.  Soulis  lowped  through 
the  garden  hedge,  and  ran,  wi'  skelloch  upon  skelloch, 
for  the  clachan. 

That  same  mornin',  John  Christie  saw  the  Black  Man 
pass  the  Muckle  Cairn  as  it  was  chappin'  six;  before 

140 


THRAWN  JANET 

eicht,  he  gaed  by  the  change-house  at  Knockdow ;  an' 
no  lang  after,  Sandy  M'Lellan  saw  him  gaun  linkin' 
doun  the  braes  frae  Kilmackerlie.  There's  little  doubt 
but  it  was  him  that  dwalled  sae  lang  in  Janet's  body ; 
but  he  was  awa'  at  last;  and  sinsyne  the  deii  has  never 
fashed  us  in  Ba'weary. 

But  it  was  a  sair  dispensation  for  the  minister;  lang, 
lang  he  lay  ravin'  in  his  bed ;  and  frae  that  hour  to  this^ 
he  was  the  man  ye  ken  the  day. 


141 


OLALLA 

NOW,"  said  the  doctor,  "my  part  is  done,  and,  I 
may  say,  with  some  vanity,  well  done.  It  re- 
mains only  to  get  you  out  of  this  cold  and  poisonous 
city,  and  to  give  you  two  months  of  a  pure  air  and  an 
easy  conscience.  The  last  is  your  affair.  To  the  first  I 
think  I  can  help  you.  It  falls  indeed  rather  oddly ;  it 
was  but  the  other  day  the  Padre  came  in  from  the  coun- 
try; and  as  he  and  I  are  old  friends,  although  of  contrary 
professions,  he  applied  to  me  in  a  matter  of  distress 
among  some  of  his  parishioners.  This  was  a  family  — 
but  you  are  ignorant  of  Spain,  and  even  the  names  of 
our  grandees  are  hardly  known  to  you ;  suffice  it,  then, 
that  they  were  once  great  people,  and  are  now  fallen  to 
the  brink  of  destitution.  Nothing  now  belongs  to  them 
but  the  residencia,  and  certain  leagues  of  desert  moun- 
tain, in  the  greater  part  of  which  not  even  a  goat  could 
support  life.  But  the  house  is  a  fine  old  place,  and 
stands  at  a  great  height  among  the  hills,  and  most  sa- 
lubriously; and  I  had  no  sooner  heard  my  friend's  tale, 
than  1  remembered  you.  I  told  him  I  had  a  wounded 
officer,  wounded  in  the  good  cause,  who  was  now  able 
to  make  a  change ;  and  I  proposed  that  his  friends  should 
take  you  for  a  lodger.     Instantly  the  Padre's  face  grew 

142 


OLALLA 

dark,  as  I  had  maliciously  foreseen  it  would.  It  was 
out  of  the  question,  he  said.  Then  let  them  starve,  said 
1,  for  I  have  no  sympathy  with  tatterdemalion  pride. 
Thereupon  we  separated,  not  very  content  with  one  an- 
other; but  yesterday,  to  my  wonder,  the  Padre  returned 
i\nd  made  a  submission :  the  difficulty,  he  said,  he  had 
found  upon  enquiry  to  be  less  than  he  had  feared ;  or, 
in  other  words,  these  proud  people  had  put  their  pride 
in  their  pocket.  I  closed  with  the  offer;  and,  subject 
to  your  approval,  I  have  taken  rooms  for  you  in  the  resi- 
dencia.  The  air  of  these  mountains  will  renew  your 
blood;  and  the  quiet  in  which  you  will  there  live  is 
worth  all  the  medicines  in  the  world." 

''Doctor,"  said  I,  **you  have  been  throughout  my 
good  angel,  and  your  advice  is  a  command.  But  tell 
me,  if  you  please,  something  of  the  family  with  which  I 
am  to  reside." 

"1  am  coming  to  that,"  replied  my  friend;  **and, 
indeed,  there  is  a  difficulty  in  the  way.  These  beggars 
are,  as  I  have  said,  of  very  high  descent  and  swollen 
with  the  most  baseless  vanity ;  they  have  lived  for  some 
generations  in  a  growing  isolation,  drawing  away,  on 
either  hand,  from  the  rich  who  had  now  become  too 
high  for  them,  and  from  the  poor,  whom  they  still  re- 
garded as  too  low;  and  even  to-day,  when  poverty 
forces  them  to  unfasten  their  door  to  a  guest,  they  can- 
not do  so  without  a  most  ungracious  stipulation.  You 
are  to  remain,  they  say,  a  stranger;  they  will  give  you 
attendance,  but  they  refuse  from  the  first  the  idea  of  the 
smallest  intimacy." 

I  will  not  deny  that  I  was  piqued,  and  perhaps  the 
feeling  strengthened  my  desire  to  go,  for  I  was  confi- 

•43 


OLALLA 

dent  that  I  could  break  down  that  barrier  if  I  desired. 
''There  is  nothing  offensive  in  such  a  stipulation,"  said 
I;  "and  I  even  sympathise  with  the  feeling  that  in- 
spired it." 

*Mt  is  true  they  have  never  seen  you,"  returned  the 
doctor  politely ;  "and  if  they  knew  you  were  the  hand- 
somest and  the  most  pleasant  man  that  ever  came  from 
England  (where  I  am  told  that  handsome  men  are  com- 
mon, but  pleasant  ones  not  so  much  so),  they  would 
doubtless  make  you  welcome  with  a  better  grace.  But 
since  you  take  the  thing  so  well,  it  matters  not.  To 
me,  indeed,  it  seems  discourteous.  But  you  will  find 
yourself  the  gainer.  The  family  will  not  much  tempt 
you.  A  mother,  a  son,  and  a  daughter;  an  old  woman 
said  to  be  half-witted,  a  country  lout,  and  a  country 
girl,  who  stands  very  high  with  her  confessor,  and  is, 
therefore,"  chuckled  the  physician,  "most  likely  plain; 
there  is  not  much  in  that  to  attract  the  fancy  of  a  dash- 
ing officer." 

"And  yet  you  say  they  are  high-born,"  I  objected. 

"Well,  as  to  that,  1  should  distinguish,"  returned  the 
doctor.  "The  mother  is;  not  so  the  children.  The 
mother  was  the  last  representative  of  a  princely  stock, 
degenerate  both  in  parts  and  fortune.  Her  father  was 
not  only  poor,  he  was  mad :  and  the  girl  ran  wild  about 
the  residencia  till  his  death.  Then,  much  of  the  fortune 
having  died  with  him,  and  the  family  being  quite  ex- 
tinct, the  girl  ran  wilder  than  ever,  until  at  last  she 
married.  Heaven  knows  whom,  a  muleteer  some  say, 
others  a  smuggler;  while  there  are  some  who  uphold 
there  was  no  marriage  at  all,  and  that  Felipe  and  Olalla 
are  bastards.     The  union,  such  as  it  was,  was  tragically 

144 


OLALLA 

dissolved  some  years  ago ;  but  they  live  in  such  seclu- 
sion, and  the  country  at  that  time  was  in  so  much  dis- 
order, that  the  precise  manner  of  the  man's  end  is 
known  only  to  the  priest  —  if  even  to  him." 

**  I  begin  to  think  I  shall  have  strange  experiences," 
said  I. 

*'I  would  not  romance,  if  I  were  you,"  replied  the 
doctor;  "you  will  find,  I  fear,  a  very  grovelling  and 
commonplace  reality.  Felipe,  for  instance,  1  have  seen. 
And  what  am  1  to  say  ?  He  is  very  rustic,  very  cun- 
ning, very  loutish,  and,  1  should  say,  an  innocent;  the 
others  are  probably  to  match.  No,  no,  senor  com- 
mandante,  you  must  seek  congenial  society  among  the 
great  sights  of  our  mountains ;  and  in  these  at  least,  if 
you  are  at  all  a  lover  of  the  works  of  nature,  I  promise 
you  will  not  be  disappointed." 

The  next  day  Felipe  came  for  me  in  a  rough  country 
cart,  drawn  by  a  mule;  and  a  little  before  the  stroke  of 
noon,  after  1  had  said  farewell  to  the  doctor,  the  inn- 
keeper, and  different  good  souls  who  had  befriended 
me  during  my  sickness,  we  set  forth  out  of  the  city  by 
the  eastern  gate,  and  began  to  ascend  into  the  Sierra. 
1  had  been  so  long  a  prisoner,  since  1  was  left  behind 
for  dying  after  the  loss  of  the  convoy,  that  the  mere 
smell  of  the  earth  set  me  smiling.  The  country  through 
which  we  went  was  wild  and  rocky,  partially  covered 
with  rough  woods,  now  of  the  cork-tree,  and  now  of 
the  great  Spanish  chestnut,  and  frequently  intersected 
by  the  beds  of  mountain  torrents.  The  sun  shone,  the 
wind  rustled  joyously;  and  we  had  advanced  some 
miles,  and  the  city  had  already  shrunk  into  an  incon- 
siderable knoll  upon  the  plain  behind  us,  before  my  at* 

'45 


OLALLA 

tention  began  to  be  diverted  to  the  companion  of  my 
drive.  To  the  eye,  he  seemed  but  a  diminutive,  lout- 
ish, well-made  country  lad,  such  as  the  doctor  had  de- 
scribed, mighty  quick  and  active,  but  devoid  of  any 
culture;  and  this  first  impression  was  with  most  ob- 
servers final.  What  began  to  strike  me  was  his  familiar, 
chattering  talk ;  so  strangely  inconsistent  with  the  terms 
on  which  I  was  to  be  received ;  and  partly  from  his  im- 
perfect enunciation,  partly  from  the  sprightly  incoherence 
of  the  matter,  so  very  difficult  to  follow  clearly  without 
an  effort  of  the  mind.  It  is  true  I  had  before  talked 
with  persons  of  a  similar  mental  constitution ;  persons 
who  seemed  to  live  (as  he  did)  by  the  senses,  taken 
and  possessed  by  the  visual  object  of  the  moment  and 
unable  to  discharge  their  minds  of  that  impression. 
His  seemed  to  me  (as  I  sat,  distantly  giving  ear)  a  kind 
of  conversation  proper  to  drivers,  who  pass  much  of 
their  time  in  a  great  vacancy  of  the  intellect  and  thread- 
ing the  sights  of  a  familiar  country.  But  this  was  not 
the  case  of  Felipe;  by  his  own  account,  he  was  a  home- 
keeper;  "  1  wish  I  was  there  now,"  he  said;  and  then 
spying  a  tree  by  the  wayside,  he  broke  off  to  tell  me 
that  he  had  once  seen  a  crow  among  its  branches. 

'*A  crow?"  I  repeated,  struck  by  the  ineptitude  of 
the  remark,  and  thinking  I  had  heard  imperfectly. 

But  by  this  time  he  was  already  filled  with  a  new 
idea;  hearkening  with  a  rapt  intentness,  his  head  on 
one  side,  his  face  puckered ;  and  he  struck  me  rudely, 
to  make  me  hold  my  peace.  Then  he  smiled  and  shook 
his  head. 

**  What  did  you  hear.?"  I  asked. 

''O,  it  is  all  right,"  he  said;  and  began  encouraging 
146 


OLALLA 

his  mule  with  cries  that  echoed   unhumanly  up  the 
mountain  walls. 

I  looked  at  him  more  closely.  He  was  superlatively 
well-built,  light,  and  lithe  and  strong;  he  was  well- 
featured  ;  his  yellow  eyes  were  very  large,  though,  per- 
haps, not  very  expressive;  take  him  altogether,  he  was 
a  pleasant-looking  lad,  and  I  had  no  fault  to  find  with 
him,  beyond  that  he  was  of  a  dusky  hue,  and  inclined 
to  hairiness ;  two  characteristics  that  1  disliked.  It  was 
his  mind  that  puzzled,  and  yet  attracted  me.  The  doc- 
tor's phrase — an  innocent  —  came  back  to  me;  and  I 
was  wondering  if  that  were,  after  all,  the  true  descrip- 
tion, when  the  road  began  to  go  down  into  the  narrow 
and  naked  chasm  of  a  torrent.  The  waters  thundered 
tumultuously  in  the  bottom;  and  the  ravine  was  filled 
full  of  the  sound,  the  thin  spray,  and  the  claps  of  wind, 
that  accompanied  their  descent.  The  scene  was  cer- 
tainly impressive;  but  the  road  was  in  that  part  very 
securely  walled  in;  the  mule  went  steadily  forward; 
and  I  was  astonished  to  perceive  the  paleness  of  terror 
in  the  face  of  my  companion.  The  voice  of  that  wild 
river  was  inconstant,  now  sinking  lower  as  if  in  weari- 
ness, now  doubling  its  hoarse  tones ;  momentary  freshets 
seemed  to  swell  its  volume,  sweeping  down  the  gorge, 
raving  and  booming  against  the  barrier  walls;  and  I 
observed  it  was  at  each  of  these  accessions  to  the 
clamour,  that  my  driver  more  particularly  winced  and 
blanched.  Some  thoughts  of  Scottish  superstition  and 
the  river  Kelpie  passed  across  my  mind ;  I  wondered  if 
perchance  the  like  were  prevalent  in  that  part  of  Spain ; 
and  turning  to  Felipe,  sought  to  draw  him  out. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  I  asked. 
•47 


OLALLA 

'*0,  I  am  afraid,"  he  replied. 

' '  Of  what  are  you  afraid  ?  "  I  returned.  *  *  This  seems 
one  of  the  safest  places  on  this  very  dangerous  road." 

*'It  makes  a  noise,"  he  said,  with  a  simplicity  of  awe 
that  set  my  doubts  at  rest. 

The  lad  was  but  a  child  in  intellect;  his  mind  was 
like  his  body,  active  and  swift,  but  stunted  in  develop- 
ment ;  and  I  began  from  that  time  forth  to  regard  him 
with  a  measure  of  pity,  and  to  listen,  at  first  with  indul- 
gence, and  at  last  even  with  pleasure,  to  his  disjointed 
babble. 

By  about  four  in  the  afternoon  we  had  crossed  the 
summit  of  the  mountain  line,  said  farewell  to  the  western 
sunshine,  and  began  to  go  down  upon  the  other  side, 
skirting  the  edge  of  many  ravines  and  moving  through 
the  shadow  of  dusky  woods.  There  rose  upon  all  sides 
the  voice  of  falling  water,  not  condensed  and  formidable 
as  in  the  gorge  of  the  river,  but  scattered  and  sounding 
gaily  and  musically  from  glen  to  glen.  Here,  too,  the 
spirits  of  my  driver  mended,  and  he  began  to  sing  aloud 
in  a  falsetto  voice,  and  with  a  singular  bluntness  of 
musical  perception,  never  true  either  to  melody  or  key, 
but  wandering  at  will,  and  yet  somehow  with  an  effect 
that  was  natural  and  pleasing,  like  that  of  the  song  of 
birds.  As  the  dusk  increased,  I  fell  more  and  more  un- 
der the  spell  of  this  artless  warbling,  listening  and  wait- 
ing for  some  articulate  air,  and  still  disappointed ;  and 
when  at  last  I  asked  him  what  it  was  he  sang  —  ''  O," 
cried  he,  "  I  am  just  singing!  "  Above  all,  I  was  taken 
with  a  trick  he  had  of  unweariedly  repeating  the  same 
note  at  little  intervals ;  it  was  not  so  monotonous  as  you 
would  think,  or,  at  least,  not  disagreeable;  and  it  seemed 

148 


OLALLA 

to  breathe  a  wonderful  contentment  with  what  is,  such 
as  we  love  to  fancy  in  the  attitude  of  trees,  or  the  qui- 
escence of  a  pool. 

Night  had  fallen  dark  before  we  came  out  upon  a 
plateau,  and  drew  up,  a  little  after,  before  a  certain  lump 
of  superior  blackness  which  1  could  only  conjecture  to 
be  the  residencia.  Here,  my  guide,  getting  down  from 
the  cart,  hooted  and  whistled  for  a  long  time  in  vain ; 
until  at  last  an  old  peasant  man  come  towards  us  from 
somewhere  in  the  surrounding  dark,  carrying  a  candle 
in  his  hand.  By  the  light  of  this  I  was  able  to  perceive 
a  great  arched  doorway  of  a  Moorish  character:  it  was 
closed  by  iron-studded  gates,  in  one  of  the  leaves  of 
which  Felipe  opened  a  wicket.  The  peasant  carried 
off  the  cart  to  some  out-building;  but  my  guide  and  I 
passed  through  the  wicket,  which  was  closed  again  be- 
hind us;  and  by  the  glimmer  of  the  candle,  passed 
through  a  court,  up  a  stone  stair,  along  a  section  of  an 
open  gallery,  and  up  more  stairs  again,  until  we  came 
at  last  to  the  door  of  a  great  and  somewhat  bare  apart- 
ment. This  room,  which  I  understood  was  to  be  mine, 
was  pierced  by  three  windows,  lined  with  some  lustrous 
wood  disposed  in  panels,  and  carpeted  with  the  skins 
of  many  savage  animals.  A  bright  fire  burned  in  the 
chimney,  and  shed  abroad  a  changeable  flicker;  close 
up  to  the  blaze  there  was  drawn  a  table,  laid  for  supper; 
and  in  the  far  end  a  bed  stood  ready.  1  was  pleased  by 
these  preparations,  and  said  so  to  Felipe;  and  he,  with 
the  same  simplicity  of  disposition  that  1  had  already  re- 
marked in  him,  warmly  re-echoed  my  praises.  **  A  fine 
room,"  he  said;  "a  very  fine  room.  And  fire,  too;  fire 
is  good ;  it  melts  out  the  pleasure  in  your  bones.     And 

»49 


OLALLA 

the  bed,"  he  continued,  carrying  over  the  candle  in  that 
direction  —  "see  what  fine  sheets  —  how  soft,  how 
smooth,  smooth;"  and  he  passed  his  hand  again  and 
again  over  their  texture,  and  then  laid  down  his  head 
and  rubbed  his  cheeks  among  them  with  a  grossness  of 
content  that  somehow  offended  me.  I  took  the  candle 
from  his  hand  (for  I  feared  he  would  set  the  bed  on  fire) 
and  walked  back  to  the  supper-table,  where,  perceiving 
a  measure  of  wine,  I  poured  out  a  cup  and  called  to  him 
to  come  and  drink  of  it.  He  started  to  his  feet  at  once 
and  ran  to  me  with  a  strong  expression  of  hope;  but 
when  he  saw  the  wine,  he  visibly  shuddered. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  said,  "not  that;  that  is  for  you.  I 
hate  it." 

"Very  well,  Senor,"  said  I;  "then  I  will  drink  to 
your  good  health,  and  to  the  prosperity  of  your  house 
and  family.  Speaking  of  which,"  I  added,  after  I  had 
drunk,  "shall  I  not  have  the  pleasure  of  laying  my 
salutations  in  person  at  the  feet  of  the  Senora,  your 
mother.?" 

But  at  these  words  all  the  childishness  passed  out  of 
his  face,  and  was  succeeded  by  a  look  of  indescribable 
cunning  and  secrecy.  He  backed  away  from  me  at  the 
same  time,  as  though  I  were  an  animal  about  to  leap  or 
some  dangerous  fellow  with  a  weapon,  and  when  he 
had  got  near  the  door,  glowered  at  me  sullenly  with 
contracted  pupils.  "No,"  he  said  at  last,  and  the  next 
moment  was  gone  noiselessly  out  of  the  room ;  and  I 
heard  his  footing  die  away  downstairs  as  light  as  rain- 
fall, and  silence  closed  over  the  house. 

After  I  had  supped  I  drew  up  the  table  nearer  to  the 
bed  and  began  to  prepare  for  rest ;  but  in  the  new  posi- 

150 


OLALLA 

tion  of  the  light,  I  was  struck  by  a  picture  on  the  wall. 
It  represented  a  woman,  still  young.  To  judge  by  her 
costume  and  the  mellow  unity  which  reigned  over  the 
canvas,  she  had  long  been  dead;  to  judge  by  the  vi- 
vacity of  the  attitude,  the  eyes  and  the  features,  I  might 
have  been  beholding  in  a  mirror  the  image  of  life.  Her 
figure  was  very  slim  and  strong,  and  of  a  just  propor- 
tion ;  red  tresses  lay  like  a  crown  over  her  brow ;  her 
eyes,  of  a  very  golden  brown,  held  mine  with  a  look; 
and  her  face,  which  was  perfectly  shaped,  was  yet  marred 
by  a  cruel,  sullen,  and  sensual  expression.  Something 
in  both  face  and  figure,  something  exquisitely  intangible, 
like  the  echo  of  an  echo,  suggested  the  features  and 
bearing  of  my  guide;  and  1  stood  awhile,  unpleasantly 
attracted  and  wondering  at  the  oddity  of  the  resem- 
blance. The  common,  carnal  stock  of  that  race,  which 
had  been  originally  designed  for  such  high  dames  as  the 
one  now  looking  on  me  from  the  canvas,  had  fallen  to 
baser  uses,  wearing  country  clothes,  sitting  on  the  shaft 
and  holding  the  reins  of  a  mule  cart,  to  bring  home  a 
lodger.  Perhaps  an  actual  link  subsisted ;  perhaps  some 
scruple  of  the  delicate  flesh  that  was  once  clothed  upon 
with  the  satin  and  brocade  of  the  dead  lady,  now  winced 
at  the  rude  contact  of  Felipe's  frieze. 

The  first  light  of  the  morning  shone  full  upon  the 
portrait,  and,  as  I  lay  awake,  my  eyes  continued  to 
dwell  upon  it  with  growing  complacency;  its  beauty 
crept  about  my  heart  insidiously,  silencing  my  scruples 
one  after  another;  and  while  1  knew  that  to  love  such 
a  woman  were  to  sign  and  seal  one's  own  sentence 
of  degeneration,  I  still  knew  that,  if  she  were  alive,  1 
should  love  her.     Day  after  day  the  double  knowledge 

«5i 


OLALLA 

of  her  wickedness  and  of  my  weakness  grew  clearer. 
She  came  to  be  the  heroine  of  many  day-dreams,  in 
which  her  eyes  led  on  to,  and  sufficiently  rewarded, 
crimes.  She  cast  a  dark  shadow  on  my  fancy;  and 
when  I  was  out  in  the  free  air  of  heaven,  taking  vigor- 
ous exercise  and  healthily  renewing  the  current  of  my 
blood,  it  was  often  a  glad  thought  to  me  that  my  en- 
chantress was  safe  in  the  grave,  her  wand  of  beauty 
broken,  her  lips  closed  in  silence,  her  philtre  spilt.  And 
yet  I  had  a  half-lingering  terror  that  she  might  not  be 
dead  after  all,  but  re-arisen  in  the  body  of  some  descen- 
dant. 

Felipe  served  my  meals  in  my  own  apartment ;  and 
his  resemblance  to  the  portrait  haunted  me.  At  times 
it  was  not ;  at  times,  upon  some  change  of  attitude  or 
flash  of  expression,  it  would  leap  out  upon  me  like  a 
ghost.  It  was  above  all  in  his  ill  tempers  that  the  like- 
ness triumphed.  He  certainly  liked  me;  he  was  proud 
of  my  notice,  which  he  sought  to  engage  by  many  sim- 
ple and  childlike  devices;  he  loved  to  sit  close  before 
my  fire,  talking  his  broken  talk  or  singing  his  odd,  end- 
less, wordless  songs,  and  sometimes  drawing  his  hand 
over  my  clothes  with  an  affectionate  manner  of  caress- 
ing that  never  failed  to  cause  in  me  an  embarrassment 
of  which  I  was  ashamed.  But  for  all  that,  he  was 
capable  of  flashes  of  causeless  anger  and  fits  of  sturdy 
sullenness.  At  a  word  of  reproof,  I  have  seen  him  up- 
set the  dish  of  which  I  was  about  to  eat,  and  this  not 
surreptitiously,  but  with  defiance;  and  similarly  at  a 
hint  of  inquisition.  I  was  not  unnaturally  curious,  be- 
ing in  a  strange  place  and  surrounded  by  strange  people, 
but  at  the  shadow  of  a  question,  he  shrank  back,  lower- 

IS2 


OLALLA 

ing  and  dangerous.  Then  it  was  that,  for  a  fraction  of 
a  second,  this  rough  lad  might  have  been  the  brother  of 
the  lady  in  the  frame.  But  these  humours  were  swift 
to  pass ;  and  the  resemblance  died  along  with  them. 

In  these  first  days  I  saw  nothing  of  anyone  but  Fe- 
lipe, unless  the  portrait  is  to  be  counted ;  and  since  the 
lad  was  plainly  of  weak  mind,  and  had  moments  of  pas- 
sion, it  may  be  wondered  that  I  bore  his  dangerous 
neighbourhood  with  equanimity.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
it  was  for  some  time  irksome ;  but  it  happened  before 
long  that  1  obtained  over  him  so  complete  a  mastery  as 
set  my  disquietude  at  rest. 

It  fell  in  this  way.  He  was  by  nature  slothful,  and 
much  of  a  vagabond,  and  yet  he  kept  by  the  house,  and 
not  only  waited  upon  my  wants,  but  laboured  every  day 
in  the  garden  or  small  farm  to  the  south  of  the  resi- 
dencia.  Here  he  would  be  joined  by  the  peasant  whom 
I  had  seen  on  the  night  of  my  arrival,  and  who  dwelt  at 
the  far  end  of  the  enclosure,  about  half  a  mile  away,  in 
a  rude  out-house ;  but  it  was  plain  to  me  that,  of  these 
two,  it  was  Felipe  who  did  most;  and  though  I  would 
sometimes  see  him  throw  down  his  spade  and  go  to 
sleep  among  the  very  plants  he  had  been  digging,  his 
constancy  and  energy  were  admirable  in  themselves,  and 
still  more  so  since  I  was  well  assured  they  were  foreign 
to  his  disposition  and  the  fruit  of  an  ungrateful  effort. 
But  while  1  admired,  I  wondered  what  had  called  forth 
in  a  lad  so  shuttle-witted  this  enduring  sense  of  duty. 
How  was  it  sustained  ?  I  asked  myself,  and  to  what 
length  did  it  prevail  over  his  instincts  ?  The  priest  was 
possibly  his  inspirer;  but  the  priest  came  one  day  to 
the  residencia.     I  saw  him  both  come  and  go  after  an 

1?? 


OLALLA 

interval  of  close  upon  an  hour,  from  a  knoll  where  1 
was  sketching,  and  all  that  time  Felipe  continued  to 
labour  undisturbed  in  the  garden. 

At  last,  in  a  very  unworthy  spirit,  I  determined  to  de- 
bauch the  lad  from  his  good  resolutions,  and,  waylaying 
him  at  the  gate,  easily  persuaded  him  to  join  me  in  a 
ramble.  It  was  a  fine  day,  and  the  woods  to  which  I 
led  him  were  green  and  pleasant  and  sweet-smelling 
and  alive  with  the  hum  of  insects.  Here  he  discovered 
himself  in  a  fresh  character,  mounting  up  to  heights  of 
gaiety  that  abashed  me,  and  displaying  an  energy  and 
grace  of  movement  that  delighted  the  eye.  He  leaped, 
he  ran  round  me  in  mere  glee;  he  would  stop,  and  look 
and  listen,  and  seemed  to  drink  in  the  world  like  a  cor- 
dial; and  then  he  would  suddenly  spring  into  a  tree 
with  one  bound,  and  hang  and  gambol  there  like  one  at 
home.  Little  as  he  said  to  me,  and  that  of  not  much 
import,  I  have  rarely  enjoyed  more  stirring  company; 
the  sight  of  his  delight  was  a  continual  feast;  the  speed 
and  accuracy  of  his  movements  pleased  me  to  the  heart; 
and  I  might  have  been  so  thoughtlessly  unkind  as  to 
make  a  habit  of  these  walks,  had  not  chance  prepared  a 
very  rude  conclusion  to  my  pleasure.  By  some  swift- 
ness or  dexterity  the  lad  captured  a  squirrel  in  a  tree- 
top.  He  was  then  some  way  ahead  of  me,  but  I  saw 
him  drop  to  the  ground  and  crouch  there,  crying  aloud 
for  pleasure  like  a  child.  The  sound  stirred  my  sympa- 
thies, it  was  so  fresh  and  innocent;  but  as  I  bettered 
my  pace  to  draw  near,  the  cry  of  the  squirrel  knocked 
upon  my  heart.  I  have  heard  and  seen  much  of  the 
cruelty  of  lads,  and  above  all  of  peasants ;  but  what  I 
now  beheld  struck  me  into  a  passion  of  anger.    I  thrust 

>54 


OLALLA 

the  fellow  aside,  plucked  the  poor  brute  out  of  his 
hands,  and  with  swift  mercy  killed  it.  Then  I  turned 
upon  the  torturer,  spoke  to  him  long  out  of  the  heat  of 
my  indignation,  calling  him  names  at  which  he  seemed 
to  wither;  and  at  length,  pointing  toward  the  residencia, 
bade  him  begone  and  leave  me,  for  1  chose  to  walk  with 
men,  not  with  vermin.  He  fell  upon  his  knees,  and, 
the  words  coming  to  him  with  more  clearness  than 
usual,  poured  out  a  stream  of  the  most  touching  suppli- 
cations, begging  me  in  mercy  to  forgive  him,  to  forget 
what  he  had  done,  to  look  to  the  future.  "  O,  I  try  so 
hard,"  he  said.  **0,  commandante,  bear  with  Felipe 
this  once;  he  will  never  be  a  brute  again!"  There- 
upon, much  more  affected  than  1  cared  to  show,  I  suf- 
fered myself  to  be  persuaded,  and  at  last  shook  hands 
with  him  and  made  it  up.  But  the  squirrel,  by  way  of 
penance,  I  made  him  bury ;  speaking  of  the  poor  thing's 
beauty,  telling  him  what  pains  it  had  suffered,  and  how 
base  a  thing  was  the  abuse  of  strength.  "  See,  Felipe," 
said  I,  "you  are  strong  indeed;  but  in  my  hands  you 
are  as  helpless  as  that  poor  thing  of  the  trees.  Give  me 
your  hand  in  mine.  You  cannot  remove  it.  Now  sup- 
pose that  I  were  cruel  like  you,  and  took  a  pleasure  in 
pain.  I  only  tighten  my  hold,  and  see  how  you  suffer." 
He  screamed  aloud,  his  face  stricken  ashy  and  dotted 
with  needle  points  of  sweat;  and  when  I  set  him  free, 
he  fell  to  the  earth  and  nursed  his  hand  and  moaned 
over  it  like  a  baby.  But  he  took  the  lesson  in  good 
part;  and  whether  from  that,  or  from  what  I  had  said 
to  him,  or  the  higher  notion  he  now  had  of  my  bodily 
strength,  his  original  affection  was  changed  into  a  dog- 
like, adoring  fidelity. 

«55 


OLALLA 

Meanwhile  I  gained  rapidly  in  health.  The  residencia 
stood  on  the  crown  of  a  stony  plateau ;  on  every  side 
the  mountains  hemmed  it  about;  only  from  the  roof, 
where  was  a  bartizan,  there  might  be  seen  between  two 
peaks,  a  small  segment  of  plain  blue,  with  extreme  dis- 
tance. The  air  in  these  altitudes  moved  freely  and 
largely ;  great  clouds  congregated  there,  and  were  broken 
up  by  the  wind  and  left  in  tatters  on  the  hill-tops ;  a 
hoarse,  and  yet  faint  rumbling  of  torrents  rose  from  all 
round ;  and  one  could  there  study  all  the  ruder  and  more 
ancient  characters  of  nature  in  something  of  their  pristine 
force.  I  delighted  from  the  first  in  the  vigorous  scen- 
ery and  changeful  weather;  nor  less  in  the  antique  and 
dilapidated  mansion  where  I  dwelt.  This  was  a  large 
oblong,  flanked  at  two  opposite  corners  by  bastion-like 
projections,  one  of  which  commanded  the  door,  while 
both  were  loopholed  for  musketry.  The  lower  storey 
was,  besides,  naked  of  windows,  so  that  the  building, 
if  garrisoned,  could  not  be  carried  without  artillery. 
It  enclosed  an  open  court  planted  with  pomegranate 
trees.  From  this  a  broad  flight  of  marble  stairs  ascended 
to  an  open  gallery,  running  all  round  and  resting,  towards 
the  court,  on  slender  pillars.  Thence  again,  several  en- 
closed stairs  led  to  the  upper  storeys  of  the  house,  which 
were  thus  broken  up  into  distinct  divisions.  The  win- 
dows, both  within  and  without,  were  closely  shuttered; 
some  of  the  stonework  in  the  upper  parts  had  fallen ;  the 
roof,  in  one  place,  had  been  wrecked  in  one  of  the  flur- 
ries of  wind  which  were  common  in  these  mountains; 
and  the  whole  house,  in  the  strong,  beating  sunlight, 
and  standing  out  above  a  grove  of  stunted  cork-trees, 
thickly  laden  and  discoloured  with  dust,  looked  like  the 

156 


OLALLA 

sleeping  palace  of  the  legend.  The  court,  in  particular, 
seemed  the  very  home  of  slumber.  A  hoarse  cooing 
of  doves  haunted  about  the  eaves;  the  winds  were  ex- 
cluded, but  when  they  blew  outside,  the  mountain  dust 
fell  here  as  thick  as  rain,  and  veiled  the  red  bloom  of 
the  pomegranates ;  shuttered  windows  and  the  closed 
doors  of  numerous  cellars,  and  the  vacant  arches  of  the 
gallery,  enclosed  it;  and  all  day  long  the  sun  made 
broken  profiles  on  the  four  sides,  and  paraded  the  sha- 
dow of  the  pillars  on  the  gallery  floor.  At  the  ground 
level  there  was,  however,  a  certain  pillared  recess,  which 
bore  the  marks  of  human  habitation.  Though  it  was 
open  in  front  upon  the  court,  it  was  yet  provided  with 
a  chimney,  where  a  wood  fire  would  be  always  prettily 
blazing;  and  the  tile  floor  was  littered  with  the  skins 
of  animals. 

It  was  in  this  place  that  I  first  saw  my  hostess.  She 
had  drawn  one  of  the  skins  forward  and  sat  in  the  sun, 
leaning  against  a  pillar.  It  was  her  dress  that  struck 
me  first  of  all,  for  it  was  rich  and  brightly  coloured,  and 
shone  out  in  that  dusty  courtyard  with  something  of  the 
same  relief  as  the  flowers  of  the  pomegranates.  At  a 
second  look  it  was  her  beauty  of  person  that  took  hold 
of  me.  As  she  sat  back  —  watching  me,  I  thought, 
though  with  invisible  eyes  —  and  wearing  at  the  same 
time  an  expression  of  almost  imbecile  good-humour  and 
contentment,  she  showed  a  perfectness  of  feature  and  a 
quiet  nobility  of  attitude  that  were  beyond  a  statue's. 
I  took  off  my  hat  to  her  in  passing,  and  her  face  puckered 
with  suspicion  as  swiftly  and  lightly  as  a  pool  ruffles  in 
the  breeze;  but  she  paid  no  heed  to  my  courtesy.  1 
went  forth  on  my  customary  walk  a  trifle  daunted,  her 

'57 


OLALLA 

idol-like  impassivity  haunting  me;  and  when  I  returned, 
although  she  was  still  in  much  the  same  posture,  I  was 
half  surprised  to  see  that  she  had  moved  as  far  as  the 
next  pillar,  following  the  sunshine.  This  time,  how- 
ever, she  addressed  me  with  some  trivial  salutation, 
civilly  enough  conceived,  and  uttered  in  the  same  deep- 
chested,  and  yet  indistinct  and  lisping  tones,  that  had 
already  baffled  the  utmost  niceness  of  my  hearing  from 
her  son.  I  answered  rather  at  a  venture;  for  not  only 
did  1  fail  to  take  her  meaning  with  precision,  but  the 
sudden  disclosure  of  her  eyes  disturbed  me.  They  were 
unusually  large,  the  iris  golden  like  Felipe's,  but  the 
pupil  at  that  moment  so  distended  that  they  seemed 
almost  black ;  and  what  affected  me  was  not  so  much 
their  size  as  (what  was  perhaps  its  consequence)  the 
singular  insignificance  of  their  regard.  A  look  more 
blankly  stupid  I  have  never  met.  My  eyes  dropped 
before  it  even  as  1  spoke,  and  1  went  on  my  way  up- 
stairs to  my  own  room,  at  once  baffled  and  embarrassed. 
Yet,  when  I  came  there  and  saw  the  face  of  the  por- 
trait, I  was  again  reminded  of  the  miracle  of  family  de- 
scent. My  hostess  was,  indeed,  both  older  and  fuller 
in  person;  her  eyes  were  of  a  different  colour;  her  face, 
besides,  was  not  only  free  from  the  ill-significance  that 
offended  and  attracted  me  in  the  painting;  it  was  devoid 
of  either  good  or  bad  —  a  moral  blank  expressing  literally 
naught.  And  yet  there  was  a  likeness,  not  so  much 
speaking  as  immanent,  not  so  much  in  any  particular 
feature  as  upon  the  whole.  It  should  seem,  I  thought,  as  if 
when  the  master  set  his  signature  to  that  grave  canvas,  he 
had  not  only  caught  the  image  of  one  smiling  and  false- 
eyed  woman,  but  stamped  the  essential  quality  of  a  race. 


OLALLA 

From  that  day  forth,  whether  I  came  or  went,  I  was 
sure  to  find  the  Senora  seated  in  the  sun  against  a  pillar, 
or  stretched  on  a  rug  before  the  fire;  only  at  times  she 
would  shift  her  station  to  the  top  round  of  the  stone 
staircase,  where  she  lay  with  the  same  nonchalance 
right  across  my  path.  In  all  these  days,  I  never  knew 
her  to  display  the  least  spark  of  energy  beyond  what 
she  expended  in  brushing  and  re-brushing  her  copious 
copper-coloured  hair,  or  in  lisping  out,  in  the  rich  and 
broken  hoarseness  of  her  voice,  her  customary  idle  salu- 
tations to  myself  These,  I  think,  were  her  two  chief 
pleasures,  beyond  that  of  mere  quiescence.  She  seemed 
always  proud  of  her  remarks,  as  though  they  had  been 
witticisms:  and,  indeed,  though  they  were  empty 
enough,  like  the  conversation  of  many  respectable  per- 
sons, and  turned  on  a  very  narrow  range  of  subjects, 
they  were  never  meaningless  or  incoherent;  nay,  they 
had  a  certain  beauty  of  their  own,  breathing,  as  they 
did,  of  her  entire  contentment.  Now  she  would  speak 
of  the  warmth  in  which  (like  her  son)  she  greatly  de- 
lighted ;  now  of  the  flowers  of  the  pomegranate  trees, 
and  now  of  the  white  doves  and  long-winged  swallows 
that  fanned  the  air  of  the  court.  The  birds  excited  her. 
As  they  raked  the  eaves  in  their  swift  flight,  or  skimmed 
sidelong  past  her  with  a  rush  of  wind,  she  would  some- 
times stir,  and  sit  a  little  up,  and  seem  to  awaken  from 
her  doze  of  satisfaction.  But  for  the  rest  of  her  days 
she  lay  luxuriously  folded  on  herself  and  sunk  in  sloth 
and  pleasure.  Her  invincible  content  at  first  annoyed 
me,  but  I  came  gradually  to  find  repose  in  the  spectacle, 
until  at  last  it  grew  to  be  my  habit  to  sit  down  beside 
her  four  times  in  the  day,  both  coming  and  going,  and 


OLALLA 

to  talk  with  her  sleepily,  I  scarce  knew  of  what.  I  had 
come  to  like  her  dull,  almost  animal  neighbourhood; 
her  beauty  and  her  stupidity  soothed  and  amused  me. 
I  began  to  find  a  kind  of  transcendental  good  sense  in 
her  remarks,  and  her  unfathomable  good-nature  moved 
me  to  admiration  and  envy.  The  liking  was  returned ; 
she  enjoyed  my  presence  half-unconsciously,  as  a  man 
in  deep  meditation  may  enjoy  the  babbling  of  a  brook. 
I  can  scarce  say  she  brightened  when  I  came,  for  satis- 
faction was  written  on  her  face  eternally,  as  on  some 
foolish  statue's ;  but  I  was  made  conscious  of  her  plea- 
sure by  some  more  intimate  communication  than  the 
sight.  And  one  day,  as  I  sat  within  reach  of  her  on 
the  marble  step,  she  suddenly  shot  forth  one  of  her 
hands  and  patted  mine.  The  thing  was  done,  and  she 
was  back  in  her  accustomed  attitude,  before  my  mind 
had  received  intelligence  of  the  caress ;  and  when  I  turned 
to  look  her  in  the  face  I  could  perceive  no  answerable 
sentiment.  It  was  plain  she  attached  no  moment  to  the 
act,  and  I  blamed  myself  for  my  own  more  uneasy  con- 
sciousness. 

The  sight  and  (if  I  may  so  call  it)  the  acquaintance  of 
the  mother  confirmed  the  view  1  had  already  taken  of  the 
son.  The  family  blood  had  been  impoverished,  perhaps 
by  long  in-breeding,  which  I  knew  to  be  a  common  error 
among  the  proud  and  the  exclusive.  No  decline,  in- 
deed, was  to  be  traced  in  the  body,  which  had  been 
handed  down  unimpaired  in  shapeliness  and  strength  : 
and  the  faces  of  to-day  were  struck  as  sharply  from  the 
mint  as  the  face  of  two  centuries  ago  that  smiled  upon 
me  from  the  portrait.  But  the  intelligence  (that  more 
precious  heirloom)  was  degenerate;  the  treasure  of  an- 

i6o 


OLALLA 

cestral  memory  ran  low;  and  it  had  required  the  potent, 
plebeian  crossing  of  a  muleteer  or  mountain  contraban- 
dista  to  raise  what  approached  hebetude  in  the  mother 
into  the  active  oddity  of  the  son.  Yet,  of  the  two,  it 
was  the  mother  I  preferred.  Of  Felipe,  vengeful  and 
placable,  full  of  starts  and  shyings,  inconstant  as  a  hare, 
I  could  even  conceive  as  a  creature  possibly  noxious. 
Of  the  mother  I  had  no  thoughts  but  those  of  kindness. 
And,  indeed,  as  spectators  are  apt  ignorantly  to  take 
sides,  I  grew  something  of  a  partisan  in  the  enmity 
which  I  perceived  to  smoulder  between  them.  True, 
it  seemed  mostly  on  the  mother's  part.  She  would 
sometimes  draw  in  her  breath  as  he  came  near,  and  the 
pupils  of  her  vacant  eyes  would  contract  with  horror  or 
fear.  Her  emotions,  such  as  they  were,  were  much 
upon  the  surface  and  readily  shared;  and  this  latent  re- 
pulsion occupied  my  mind,  and  kept  me  wondering  on 
what  grounds  it  rested,  and  whether  the  son  was  cer- 
tainly in  fault. 

I  had  been  about  ten  days  in  the  residencia,  when 
there  sprang  up  a  high  and  harsh  wind,  carrying  clouds 
of  dust.  It  came  out  of  malarious  lowlands,  and  over 
several  snowy  sierras.  The  nerves  of  those  on  whom 
it  blew  were  strung  and  jangled;  their  eyes  smarted 
with  the  dust;  their  legs  ached  under  the  burthen  of 
their  body;  and  the  touch  of  one  hand  upon  another 
grew  to  be  odious.  The  wind,  besides,  came  down 
the  gullies  of  the  hills  and  stormed  about  the  house 
with  a  great,  hollow  buzzing  and  whistling  that  was 
wearisome  to  the  ear  and  dismally  depressing  to  the 
mind.  It  did  not  so  much  blow  in  gusts  as  with  the 
steady  sweep  of  a  waterfall,  so  that  there  was  no  remis- 

\6\ 


OLALLA 

sion  of  discomfort  while  it  blew.  But  higher  upon  the 
mountain,  it  was  probably  of  a  more  variable  strength, 
with  accesses  of  fury ;  for  there  came  down  at  times  a 
far-off  wailing,  infinitely  grievous  to  hear;  and  at  times, 
on  one  of  the  high  shelves  or  terraces,  there  would  start 
up,  and  then  disperse,  a  tower  of  dust,  like  the  smoke 
of  an  explosion. 

I  no  sooner  awoke  in  bed  than  1  was  conscious  of  the 
nervous  tension  and  depression  of  the  weather,  and  the 
effect  grew  stronger  as  the  day  proceeded.  It  was  in 
vain  that  I  resisted ;  in  vain  that  1  set  forth  upon  my  cus- 
tomary morning's  walk ;  the  irrational,  unchanging  fury 
of  the  storm  had  soon  beat  down  my  strength  and 
wrecked  my  temper;  and  I  returned  to  the  residencia, 
glowing  with  dry  heat,  and  foul  and  gritty  with  dust. 
The  court  had  a  forlorn  appearance;  now  and  then  a 
glimmer  of  sun  fled  over  it;  now  and  then  the  wind 
swooped  down  upon  the  pomegranates,  and  scattered 
the  blossoms,  and  set  the  window  shutters  clapping  on 
the  wall.  In  the  recess  the  Sefiora  was  pacing  to  and  fro 
with  a  flushed  countenance  and  bright  eyes ;  I  thought, 
too,  she  was  speaking  to  herself,  like  one  in  anger.  But 
when  I  addressed  her  with  my  customary  salutation,  she 
only  replied  by  a  sharp  gesture  and  continued  her  walk. 
The  weather  had  distempered  even  this  impassive  crea- 
ture; and  as  I  went  on  upstairs  I  was  the  less  ashamed 
of  my  own  discomposure. 

All  day  the  wind  continued ;  and  I  sat  in  my  room 
and  made  a  feint  of  reading,  or  walked  up  and  down, 
and  listened  to  the  riot  overhead.  Night  fell,  and  I  had 
not  so  much  as  a  candle.  I  began  to  long  for  some 
society,  and  stole  down  to  the  court.     It  was  now 

162 


QLALLA 

plunged  in  the  blue  of  the  first  darkness ;  but  the  recess 
was  redly  lighted  by  the  fire.  The  wood  had  been  piled 
high,  and  was  crowned  by  a  shock  of  flames,  which  the 
draught  of  the  chimney  brandished  to  and  fro.  In  this 
strong  and  shaken  brightness  the  Senora  continued 
pacing  from  wall  to  wall  with  disconnected  gestures, 
clasping  her  hands,  stretching  forth  her  arms,  throwing 
back  her  head  as  in  appeal  to  heaven.  In  these  disor- 
dered movements  the  beauty  and  grace  of  the  woman 
showed  more  clearly ;  but  there  was  a  light  in  her  eye 
that  struck  on  me  unpleasantly;  and  when  I  had  looked 
on  awhile  in  silence,  and  seemingly  unobserved,  I  turned 
tail  as  I  had  come,  and  groped  my  way  back  again  to 
my  own  chamber. 

By  the  time  Felipe  brought  my  supper  and  lights,  my 
nerve  was  utterly  gone;  and,  had  the  lad  been  such  as 
I  was  used  to  seeing  him,  I  should  have  kept  him  (even 
by  force  had  that  been  necessary)  to  take  off  the  edge 
from  my  distasteful  solitude.  But  on  Felipe,  also,  the 
wind  had  exercised  its  influence.  He  had  been  feverish 
all  day;  now  that  the  night  had  come  he  was  fallen  into 
a  low  and  tremulous  humour  that  reacted  on  my  own. 
The  sight  of  his  scared  face,  his  starts  and  pallors  and 
sudden  hearkenings,  unstrung  me;  and  when  he  drop- 
ped and  broke  a  dish,  I  fairly  leaped  out  of  my  seat. 

**  I  think  we  are  all  mad  to-day,"  said  I,  affecting  to 
laugh. 

"It  is  the  black  wind,"  he  replied  dolefully.  "You 
feel  as  if  you  must  do  something,  and  you  don't  know 
what  it  is." 

1  noted  the  aptness  of  the  description ;  but,  indeed, 
Felipe  had  sometimes  a  strange  felicity  in  rendering  into 

163 


OLALLA 

words  the  sensations  of  the  body.  ''And  your  mother, 
too,"  said  I;  "she  seems  to  feel  this  weather  much. 
Do  you  not  fear  she  may  be  unwell  ?  " 

He  stared  at  me  a  little,  and  then  said,  "No,"  almost 
defiantly ;  and  the  next  moment,  carrying  his  hand  to 
his  brow,  cried  out  lamentably  on  the  wind  and  the 
noise  that  made  his  head  go  round  like  a  mill-wheel. 
'  *  Who  can  be  well  ?"  he  cried ;  and,  indeed,  1  could  only 
echo  his  question,  for  I  was  disturbed  enough  myself. 

I  went  to  bed  early,  wearied  with  day-long  restless- 
ness :  but  the  poisonous  nature  of  the  wind,  and  its  un- 
godly and  unintermittent  uproar,  would  not  suffer  me 
to  sleep.  I  lay  there  and  tossed,  my  nerves  and  senses 
on  the  stretch.  At  times  I  would  doze,  dream  horribly, 
and  wake  again;  and  these  snatches  of  oblivion  con- 
fused me  as  to  time.  But  it  must  have  been  late  on  in 
the  night,  when  I  was  suddenly  startled  by  an  outbreak 
of  pitiable  and  hateful  cries.  I  leaped  from  my  bed, 
supposing  I  had  dreamed ;  but  the  cries  still  continued 
to  fill  the  house,  cries  of  pain,  I  thought,  but  certainly 
of  rage  also,  and  so  savage  and  discordant  that  they 
shocked  the  heart.  It  was  no  illusion;  some  living 
thing,  some  lunatic  or  some  wild  animal,  was  being 
foully  tortured.  The  thought  of  Felipe  and  the  squir- 
rel flashed  into  my  mind,  and  I  ran  to  the  door,  but  it 
had  been  locked  from  the  outside;  and  I  might  shake 
it  as  I  pleased,  1  was  a  fast  prisoner.  Still  the  cries 
continued.  Now  they  would  dwindle  down  into  a 
moaning  that  seemed  to  be  articulate,  and  at  these 
times  I  made  sure  they  must  be  human ;  and  again  they 
would  break  forth  and  fill  the  house  with  ravings 
worthy  of  hell.     I  stood  at  the  door  and  gave  ear  to 

164 


OLALLA 

them,  till  at  last  they  died  away.  Long  after  that,  I 
still  lingered  and  still  continued  to  hear  them  mingle 
in  fancy  with  the  storming  of  the  wind ;  and  when  at 
last  I  crept  to  my  bed,  it  was  with  a  deadly  sickness  and 
a  blackness  of  horror  on  my  heart. 

It  was  little  wonder  if  I  slept  no  more.  Why  had  I 
been  locked  in  ?  What  had  passed  ?  Who  was  the 
author  of  these  indescribable  and  shocking  cries?  A 
human  being  ?  It  was  inconceivable.  A  beast  ?  The 
cries  were  scarce  quite  bestial ;  and  what  animal,  short 
of  a  lion  or  a  tiger,  could  thus  shake  the  solid  walls  of 
the  residencia  ?  And  while  I  was  thus  turning  over  the 
elements  of  the  mystery,  it  came  into  my  mind  that  1 
had  not  yet  set  eyes  upon  the  daughter  of  the  house. 
What  was  more  probable  than  that  the  daughter  of  the 
Senora,  and  the  sister  of  Felipe,  should  be  herself  in- 
sane ?  Or,  what  more  likely  than  that  these  ignorant 
and  half-witted  people  should  seek  to  manage  an  af- 
flicted kinswoman  by  violence.^  Here  was  a  solution; 
and  yet  when  I  called  to  mind  the  cries  (which  I  never 
did  without  a  shuddering  chill)  it  seemed  altogether  in- 
sufficient: not  even  cruelty  could  wring  such  cries  from 
madness.  But  of  one  thing  I  was  sure:  I  could  not 
live  in  a  house  where  such  a  thing  was  half  conceiv- 
able and  not  probe  the  matter  home  and,  if  necessary, 
interfere. 

The  next  day  came,  the  wind  had  blown  itself  out, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  remind  me  of  the  business  of 
the  night.  Felipe  came  to  my  bedside  with  obvious 
cheerfulness ;  as  I  passed  through  the  court,  the  Senora 
was  sunning  herself  with  her  accustomed  immobility; 
and  when  I  issued  from  the  gateway,  1  found  the  whole 

i6s 


OLALLA 

face  of  nature  austerely  smiling,  the  heavens  of  a  cold 
blue,  and  sown  with  great  cloud  islands,  and  the  moun- 
tain-sides mapped  forth  into  provinces  of  light  and 
shadow.  A  short  walk  restored  me  to  myself,  and  re- 
newed within  me  the  resolve  to  plumb  this  mystery; 
and  when,  from  the  vantage  of  my  knoll,  1  had  seen 
Felipe  pass  forth  to  his  labours  in  the  garden,  I  returned 
at  once  to  the  residencia  to  put  my  design  in  practice. 
The  Sefiora  appeared  plunged  in  slumber;  I  stood  awhile 
and  marked  her,  but  she  did  not  stir;  even  if  my  de- 
sign were  indiscreet  I  had  little  to  fear  from  such  a 
guardian ;  and  turning  away,  I  mounted  to  the  gallery 
and  began  my  exploration  of  the  house. 

All  morning  I  went  from  one  door  to  another,  and 
entered  spacious  and  faded  chambers,  some  rudely 
shuttered,  some  receiving  their  full  charge  of  daylight, 
all  empty  and  unhomely.  It  was  a  rich  house,  on  which 
Time  had  breathed  his  tarnish  and  dust  had  scattered 
disillusion.  The  spider  swung  there;  the  bloated  ta- 
rantula scampered  on  the  cornices;  ants  had  their 
crowded  highways  on  the  floor  of  halls  of  audience; 
the  big  and  foul  fly,  that  lives  on  carrion  and  is  often 
the  messenger  of  death,  had  set  up  his  nest  in  the  rot- 
ten woodwork,  and  buzzed  heavily  about  the  rooms. 
Here  and  there  a  stool  or  two,  a  couch,  a  bed,  or  a 
great  carved  chair  remained  behind,  like  islets  on  the 
bare  floors,  to  testify  of  man's  bygone  habitation ;  and 
everywhere  the  walls  were  set  with  the  portraits  of  the 
dead.  I  could  judge,  by  these  decaying  effigies,  in  the 
house  of  what  a  great  and  what  a  handsome  race  I  was 
then  wandering.  Many  of  the  men  wore  orders  on 
their  breasts,  and  had  the  port  of  noble  officers;  the 

1 66 


OLALLA 

women  were  all  richly  attired;  the  canvases  most  of 
them  by  famous  hands.  But  it  was  not  so  much  these 
evidences  of  greatness  that  took  hold  upon  my  mind, 
even  contrasted,  as  they  were,  with  the  present  depopu- 
lation and  decay  of  that  great  house.  It  was  rather  the 
parable  of  family  life  that  I  read  in  this  succession  of 
fair  faces  and  shapely  bodies.  Never  before  had  I  so 
realized  the  miracle  of  the  continued  race,  the  creation 
and  recreation,  the  weaving  and  changing  and  handing 
down  of  fleshly  elements.  That  a  child  should  be  born 
of  its  mother,  that  it  should  grow  and  clothe  itself  (we 
know  not  how)  with  humanity,  and  put  on  inherited 
looks,  and  turn  its  head  with  the  manner  of  one  ascen- 
dant, and  offer  its  hand  with  the  gesture  of  another,  are 
wonders  dulled  for  us  by  repetition.  But  in  the  singular 
unity  of  look,  in  the  common  features  and  common 
bearing,  of  all  these  painted  generations  on  the  walls  of 
the  residencia,  the  miracle  started  out  and  looked  me  in 
the  face.  And  an  ancient  mirror  falling  opportunely  in 
my  way,  I  stood  and  read  my  own  features  a  long 
while,  tracing  out  on  either  hand  the  filaments  of  de- 
scent and  the  bonds  that  knit  me  with  my  family. 

At  last,  in  the  course  of  these  investigations,  I  opened 
the  door  of  a  chamber  that  bore  the  marks  of  habita- 
tion. It  was  of  large  proportions  and  faced  to  the  north, 
where  the  mountains  were  most  wildly  figured.  The 
embers  of  a  fire  smouldered  and  smoked  upon  the  hearth, 
to  which  a  chair  had  been  drawn  close.  And  yet  the 
aspect  of  the  chamber  was  ascetic  to  the  degree  of  stern- 
ness; the  chair  was  uncushioned;  the  floor  and  walls 
were  naked ;  and  beyond  the  books  which  lay  here  and 
there  in  some  confusion,  there  was  no  instrument  of 

167 


OLALLA 

either  work  or  pleasure.  The  sight  of  books  in  the 
house  of  such  a  family  exceedingly  amazed  me;  and  I 
began  with  a  great  hurry,  and  in  momentary  fear  of  in- 
terruption, to  go  from  one  to  another  and  hastily  inspect 
their  character.  They  were  of  all  sorts,  devotional,  his- 
torical, and  scientific,  but  mostly  of  a  great  age  and  in 
the  Latin  tongue.  Some  I  could  see  to  bear  the  marks 
of  constant  study;  others  had  been  torn  across  and 
tossed  aside  as  if  in  petulance  or  disapproval.  Lastly, 
as  1  cruised  about  that  empty  chamber,  I  espied  some 
papers  written  upon  with  pencil  on  a  table  near  the 
window.  An  unthinking  curiosity  led  me  to  take  one 
up.  It  bore  a  copy  of  verses,  very  roughly  metred  in 
the  original  Spanish,  and  which  I  may  render  some- 
what thus  — 

Pleasure  approached  with  pain  and  shame, 
Grief  with  a  wreath  of  lilies  came. 
Pleasure  showed  the  lovely  sun ; 
Jesu  dear,  how  sweet  it  shone! 
Grief  with  her  worn  hand  pointed  on, 
Jesu  dear,  to  thee! 

Shame  and  confusion  at  once  fell  on  me ;  and,  laying 
down  the  paper,  I  beat  an  immediate  retreat  from  the 
apartment.  Neither  Felipe  nor  his  mother  could  have 
read  the  books  nor  written  these  rough  but  feeling 
verses.  It  was  plain  I  had  stumbled  with  sacrilegious 
feet  into  the  room  of  the  daughter  of  the  house.  God 
knows,  my  own  heart  most  sharply  punished  me  for  my 
indiscretion.  The  thought  that  I  had  thus  secretly 
pushed  my  way  into  the  confidence  of  a  girl  so  strangely 
situated,  and  the  fear  that  she  might  somehow  come  to 

168 


OLALLA 

hear  of  it,  oppressed  me  like  guilt.  I  blamed  myself 
besides  for  my  suspicions  of  the  night  before ;  wondered 
that  I  should  ever  have  attributed  those  shocking  cries 
to  one  of  whom  I  now  conceived  as  of  a  saint,  spectral 
of  mien,  warted  with  maceration,  bound  up  in  the 
practices  of  a  mechanical  devotion,  and  dwelling  in  a 
great  isolation  of  soul  with  her  incongruous  relatives ; 
and  as  I  leaned  on  the  balustrade  of  the  gallery  and 
looked  down  into  the  bright  close  of  pomegranates  and 
at  the  gaily  dressed  and  somnolent  woman,  who  just 
then  stretched  herself  and  delicately  licked  her  lips  as 
in  the  very  sensuality  of  sloth,  my  mind  swiftly  com- 
pared the  scene  with  the  cold  chamber  looking  north- 
ward on  the  mountains,  where  the  daughter  dwelt. 

That  same  afternoon,  as  I  sat  upon  my  knoll,  I  saw 
the  Padre  enter  the  gate  of  the  residencia.  The  reve- 
lation of  the  daughter's  character  had  struck  home  to 
my  fancy,  and  almost  blotted  out  the  horrors  of  the 
night  before ;  but  at  sight  of  this  worthy  man  the  mem- 
ory revived.  I  descended,  then,  from  the  knoll,  and 
making  a  circuit  among  the  woods,  posted  myself  by  the 
wayside  to  await  his  passage.  As  soon  as  he  appeared  I 
stepped  forth  and  introduced  myself  as  the  lodger  of  the 
residencia.  He  had  a  very  strong,  honest  countenance, 
on  which  it  was  easy  to  read  the  mingled  emotions  with 
which  he  regarded  me,  as  a  foreigner,  a  heretic,  and  yet 
one  who  had  been  wounded  for  the  good  cause.  Of  the 
family  at  the  residencia  he  spoke  with  reserve,  and  yet 
with  respect.  1  mentioned  that  I  had  not  yet  seen  the 
daughter,  whereupon  he  remarked  that  that  was  as  it 
should  be,  and  looked  at  me  a  little  askance.  Lastly,  1 
plucked  up  courage  to  refer  to  the  cries  that  had  dis- 

169 


OLALLA 

turbed  me  in  the  night.  He  heard  me  out  in  silence^ 
and  then  stopped  and  partly  turned  about,  as  though  to 
mark  beyond  doubt  that  he  was  dismissing  me. 

**  Do  you  take  tobacco  powder  ?  "  said  he,  offering  his 
snuff-box;  and  then,  when  I  had  refused,  *M  am  an  old 
man,"  he  added,  "and  I  maybe  allowed  to  remind  you 
that  you  are  a  guest." 

**I  have,  then,  your  authority,"  I  returned,  firmly 
enough,  although  I  flushed  at  the  implied  reproof,  "to 
let  things  take  their  course,  and  not  to  interfere  ?  " 

He  said  "yes,"  and  with  a  somewhat  uneasy  salute 
turned  and  left  me  where  I  was.  But  he  had  done  two 
things :  he  had  set  my  conscience  at  rest,  and  he  had 
awakened  my  delicacy.  I  made  a  great  effort,  once 
more  dismissed  the  recollections  of  the  night,  and  fell 
once  more  to  brooding  on  my  saintly  poetess.  At  the 
same  time,  I  could  not  quite  forget  that  I  had  been 
locked  in,  and  that  night  when  Felipe  brought  me  my 
supper  I  attacked  him  warily  on  both  points  of  interest. 

**  1  never  see  your  sister,"  said  I  casually. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  he;  '*she  is  a  good,  good  girl,"  and 
his  mind  instantly  veered  to  something  else. 

"  Your  sister  is  pious,  I  suppose,"  I  asked  in  the  next 
pause. 

"Oh,"  he  cried,  joining  his  hands  with  extreme  fer- 
vour, "a  saint;  it  is  she  that  keeps  me  up." 

"You  are  very  fortunate,"  said  I,  "for  the  most  of 
us,  1  am  afraid,  and  myself  among  the  number,  are 
better  at  going  down." 

"Senor,"  said  Felipe  earnestly,  "I  would  not  say 
that.  You  should  not  tempt  your  angel.  If  one  goes 
down,  where  is  he  to  stop  ?" 


OLALLA 

**  Why,  Felipe,"  said  I,  **  I  had  no  guess  you  were  a 
preacher,  and  I  may  say  a  good  one;  but  I  suppose  that 
is  your  sister's  doing  ?  " 

He  nodded  at  me  with  round  eyes. 

"Well,  then,"  I  continued,  "she  has  doubtless  re- 
proved you  for  your  sin  of  cruelty  ?  " 

"Twelve  times!"  he  cried;  for  this  was  the  phrase 
by  which  the  odd  creature  expressed  the  sense  of  fre~ 
quency.  *  *  And  I  told  her  you  had  done  so  —  1  remem- 
bered that,"  he  added  proudly — "and  she  was  pleased." 

"Then,  Felipe,"  said  1,  "  what  were  those  cries  that 
I  heard  last  night  ?  for  surely  they  were  cries  of  some 
creature  in  suffering." 

"  The  wind,"  returned  Felipe,  looking  in  the  fire. 

I  took  his  hand  in  mine,  at  which,  thinking  it  to  be 
a  caress,  he  smiled  with  a  brightness  of  pleasure  that 
came  near  disarming  my  resolve.  But  I  trod  the  weak- 
ness down.  '  *  The  wind, "  I  repeated ;  ' '  and  yet  I  think 
it  was  this  hand,"  holding  it  up,  "  that  had  first  locked 
me  in."  The  lad  shook  visibly,  but  answered  never  a 
word.  "Well,"  said  I,  "I  am  a  stranger  and  a  guest. 
It  is  not  my  part  either  to  meddle  or  to  judge  in  your 
affairs;  in  these  you  shall  take  your  sister's  counsel, 
which  I  cannot  doubt  to  be  excellent.  But  in  so  far  as 
concerns  my  own  I  will  be  no  man's  prisoner,  and  I 
demand  that  key."  Half  an  hour  later  my  door  was 
suddenly  thrown  open,  and  the  key  tossed  ringing  on 
the  floor. 

A  day  or  two  after  I  came  in  from  a  walk  a  little  be- 
fore the  point  of  noon.  The  Senora  was  lying  lapped 
in  slumber  on  the  threshold  of  the  recess;  the  pigeons 
dozed  below  the  eaves  like  snowdrifts;  the  house  was 

171 


OLALLA 

under  a  deep  spell  of  noontide  quiet;  and  only  a  wan- 
dering and  gentle  wind  from  the  mountain  stole  round 
the  galleries,  rustled  among  the  pomegranates,  and 
pleasantly  stirred  the  shadows.  Something  in  the  still- 
ness moved  me  to  imitation,  and  I  went  very  lightly 
across  the  court  and  up  the  marble  staircase.  My  foot 
was  on  the  topmost  round,  when  a  door  opened,  and  I 
found  myself  face  to  face  with  Olalla.  Surprise  trans- 
fixed me;  her  loveliness  struck  to  my  heart;  she  glowed 
in  the  deep  shadow  of  the  gallery,  a  gem  of  colour;  her 
eyes  took  hold  upon  mine  and  clung  there,  and  bound 
us  together  like  the  joining  of  hands ;  and  the  moments 
we  thus  stood  face  to  face,  drinking  each  other  in,  were 
sacramental  and  the  wedding  of  souls.  I  know  not  how 
long  it  was  before  I  awoke  out  of  a  deep  trance,  and, 
hastily  bowing,  passed  on  into  the  upper  stair.  She  did 
not  move,  but  followed  me  with  her  great,  thirsting 
eyes ;  and  as  I  passed  out  of  sight  it  seemed  to  me  as  if 
she  paled  and  faded. 

In  my  own  room,  I  opened  the  window  and  looked 
out,  and  could  not  think  what  change  had  come  upon 
that  austere  field  of  mountains  that  it  should  thus  sing 
and  shine  under  the  lofty  heaven.  I  had  seen  her  — 
Olalla!  And  the  stone  crags  answered,  Olalla!  and  the 
dumb,  unfathomable  azure  answered,  Olalla !  The  pale 
saint  of  my  dreams  had  vanished  for  ever;  and  in  her 
place  I  beheld  this  maiden  on  whom  God  had  lavished 
the  richest  colours  and  the  most  exuberant  energies  of 
life,  whom  he  had  made  active  as  a  deer,  slender  as  a 
reed,  and  in  whose  great  eyes  he  had  lighted  the  torches 
of  the  soul.  The  thrill  of  her  young  life,  strung  like  a 
wild  animal's,  had  entered  into  me ;  the  force  of  soul 

172 


OLALLA 

that  had  looked  out  from  her  eyes  and  conquered  mine, 
mantled  about  my  heart  and  sprang  to  my  lips  in  sing- 
ing. She  passed  through  my  veins :  she  was  one  with 
me. 

I  will  not  say  that  this  enthusiasm  declined ;  rather 
my  soul  held  out  in  its  ecstasy  as  in  a  strong  castle,  and 
was  there  besieged  by  cold  and  sorrowful  considera- 
tions. I  could  not  doubt  but  that  I  loved  her  at  first 
sight,  and  already  with  a  quivering  ardour  that  was 
strange  to  my  experience.  What  then  was  to  follow  ? 
She  was  the  child  of  an  afflicted  house,  the  Senora's 
daughter,  the  sister  of  Felipe;  she  bore  it  even  in  her 
beauty.  She  had  the  lightness  and  swiftness  of  the 
one,  swift  as  an  arrow,  light  as  dew;  like  the  other, 
she  shone  on  the  pale  background  of  the  world  with  the 
brilliancy  of  flowers.  I  could  not  call  by  the  name  of 
brother  that  half-witted  lad,  nor  by  the  name  of  mother 
that  immovable  and  lovely  thing  of  flesh,  whose  silly 
eyes  and  perpetual  simper  now  recurred  to  my  mind 
like  something  hateful.  And  if  I  could  not  marry,  what 
then  ?  She  was  helplessly  unprotected ;  her  eyes,  in 
that  single  and  long  glance  which  had  been  all  our  in- 
tercourse, had  confessed  a  weakness  equal  to  my  own ; 
but  in  my  heart  I  knew  her  for  the  student  of  the  cold 
northern  chamber,  and  the  writer  of  the  sorrowful  lines; 
and  this  was  a  knowledge  to  disarm  a  brute.  To  flee 
was  more  than  I  could  find  courage  for;  but  I  registered 
a  vow  of  unsleeping  circumspection. 

As  I  turned  from  the  window,  my  eyes  alighted  on 
the  portrait.  It  had  fallen  dead,  like  a  candle  after  sun- 
rise ;  it  followed  me  with  eyes  of  paint.  I  knew  it  to 
be  like,  and  marvelled  at  the  tenacity  of  type  in  that 

«73 


OLALLA 

declining  race;  but  the  likeness  was  swallowed  up  in 
difference.  I  remembered  how  it  had  seemed  to  me  a 
thing  unapproachable  in  the  life,  a  creature  rather  of 
the  painter's  craft  than  of  the  modesty  of  nature,  and  I 
marvelled  at  the  thought,  and  exulted  in  the  image  of 
Olalla.  Beauty  1  had  seen  before, and  not  been  charmed, 
and  I  had  been  often  drawn  to  women,  who  were  not 
beautiful  except  to  me ;  but  in  Olalla  all  that  I  desired 
and  had  not  dared  to  imagine  was  united. 

I  did  not  see  her  the  next  day,  and  my  heart  ached 
and  my  eyes  longed  for  her,  as  men  long  for  morning. 
But  the  day  after,  when  1  returned,  about  my  usual 
hour,  she  was  once  more  on  the  gallery,  and  our  looks 
once  more  met  and  embraced.  I  would  have  spoken, 
I  would  have  drawn  near  to  her;  but  strongly  as  she 
plucked  at  my  heart,  drawing  me  like  a  magnet,  some- 
thing yet  more  imperious  withheld  me;  and  I  could 
only  bow  and  pass  by ;  and  she,  leaving  my  salutation 
unanswered,  only  followed  me  with  her  noble  eyes. 

I  had  now  her  image  by  rote,  and  as  I  conned  the 
traits  in  memory  it  seemed  as  if  I  read  her  very  heart. 
She  was  dressed  with  something  of  her  mother's  co- 
quetry, and  love  of  positive  colour.  Her  robe,  which  I 
knew  she  must  have  made  with  her  own  hands,  clung 
about  her  witb  a  cunning  grace.  After  the  fashion  of 
that  country,  besides,  her  bodice  stood  open  in  the 
middle,  in  a  long  slit,  and  here,  in  spite  of  the  poverty 
of  the  house,  a  gold  coin,  hanging  by  a  ribbon,  lay  on 
her  brown  bosom.  These  were  proofs,  had  any  been 
needed,  of  her  inborn  delight  in  life  and  her  own  loveli- 
ness. On  the  other  hand,  in  her  eyes,  that  hung  upon 
mine,  1  could  read  depth  beyond  depth  of  passion  and 

174 


OLALLA 

sadness,  lights  of  poetry  and  hope,  blacknesses  of  de- 
spair, and  thoughts  that  were  above  the  earth.  It  was 
a  lovely  body,  but  the  inmate,  the  soul,  was  more  than 
worthy  of  that  lodging.  Should  I  leave  this  incompa- 
rable flower  to  wither  unseen  on  these  rough  mountains  ? 
Should  I  despise  the  great  gift  offered  me  in  the  eloquent 
silence  of  her  eyes?  Here  was  a  soul  immured;  should 
I  not  burst  its  prison  ?  All  side  considerations  fell  off 
from  me;  were  she  the  child  of  Herod  1  swore  1  should 
make  her  mine;  and  that  very  evening  1  set  myself, 
with  a  mingled  sense  of  treachery  and  disgrace,  to  cap- 
tivate the  brother.  Perhaps  I  read  him  with  more  fa- 
vourable eyes,  perhaps  the  thought  of  his  sister  always 
summoned  up  the  better  qualities  of  that  imperfect  soul ; 
but  he  had  never  seemed  to  me  so  amiable,  and  his  very 
likeness  to  Olalla,  while  it  annoyed,  yet  softened  me. 

A  third  day  passed  in  vain — an  empty  desert  of  hours. 
1  would  not  lose  a  chance,  and  loitered  all  afternoon  in 
the  court  where  (to  give  myself  a  countenance)  I  spoke 
more  than  usual  with  the  Senora.  God  knows  it  was 
with  a  most  tender  and  sincere  interest  that  I  now 
studied  her;  and  even  as  for  Felipe,  so  now  for  the 
mother,  I  was  conscious  of  a  growing  warmth  of  tol- 
eration. And  yet  I  wondered.  Even  while  I  spoke 
with  her,  she  would  doze  off  into  a  little  sleep,  and 
presently  awake  again  without  embarrassment;  and 
this  composure  staggered  me.  And  again,  as  I  marked 
her  make  infinitesimal  changes  in  her  posture,  savour- 
ing and  lingering  on  the  bodily  pleasure  of  the  moment, 
I  was  driven  to  wonder  at  this  depth  of  passive  sen- 
suality. She  lived  in  her  body;  and  her  consciousness 
was  all  sunk  into  and  disseminated  through  her  mem- 

•75 


OLALLA 

bers,  where  it  luxuriously  dwelt.  Lastly,  I  could  not 
grow  accustomed  to  her  eyes.  Each  time  she  turned 
on  me  these  great  beautiful  and  meaningless  orbs,  wide 
open  to  the  day,  but  closed  against  human  inquiry  — 
each  time  I  had  occasion  to  observe  the  lively  changes 
of  her  pupils  which  expanded  and  contracted  in  a 
breath  —  I  know  not  what  it  was  came  over  me,  1  can 
find  no  name  for  the  mingled  feeling  of  disappointment, 
annoyance,  and  distaste  that  jarred  along  my  nerves. 
I  tried  her  on  a  variety  of  subjects,  equally  in  vain ;  and 
at  last  led  the  talk  to  her  daughter.  But  even  there  she 
proved  indifferent ;  said  she  was  pretty,  which  (as  with 
children)  was  her  highest  word  of  commendation,  but 
was  plainly  incapable  of  any  higher  thought;  and  when 
I  remarked  that  Olalla  seemed  silent,  merely  yawned  in 
my  face  and  replied  that  speech  was  of  no  great  use 
when  you  had  nothing  to  say.  **  People  speak  much, 
very  much,"  she  added,  looking  at  me  with  expanded 
pupils;  and  then  again  yawned,  and  again  showed  me 
a  mouth  that  was  as  dainty  as  a  toy.  This  time  I  took 
the  hint,  and,  leaving  her  to  her  repose,  went  up  into 
my  own  chamber  to  sit  by  the  open  window,  looking 
on  the  hills  and  not  beholding  them,  sunk  in  lustrous 
and  deep  dreams,  and  hearkening  in  fancy  to  the  note 
of  a  voice  that  I  had  never  heard. 

1  awoke  on  the  fifth  morning  with  a  brightness  of  an- 
ticipation that  seemed  to  challenge  fate.  I  was  sure  of 
myself,  light  of  heart  and  foot,  and  resolved  to  put  my 
love  incontinently  to  the  touch  of  knowledge.  It  should 
lie  no  longer  under  the  bonds  of  silence,  a  dumb  thing, 
living  by  the  eye  only,  like  the  love  of  beasts ;  but  should 
now  put  on  the  spirit,  and  enter  upon  the  joys  of  the 

176 


OLALLA 

complete  human  intimacy.  I  thought  of  it  with  wild 
hopes,  like  a  voyager  to  El  Dorado ;  into  that  unknown 
and  lovely  country  of  her  soul,  I  no  longer  trembled  to 
adventure.  Yet  when  I  did  indeed  encounter  her,  the 
same  force  of  passion  descended  on  me  and  at  once  sub- 
merged my  mind ;  speech  seemed  to  drop  away  from  me 
like  a  childish  habit;  and  I  but  drew  near  to  her  as  the 
giddy  man  draws  near  to  the  margin  of  a  gulf.  She 
drew  back  from  me  a  little  as  I  came ;  but  her  eyes  did 
not  waver  from  mine,  and  these  lured  me  forward.  At 
last,  when  I  was  already  within  reach  of  her,  I  stopped. 
Words  were  denied  me ;  if  I  advanced  I  could  but  clasp 
her  to  my  heart  in  silence;  and  all  that  was  sane  in  me, 
all  that  was  still  unconquered,  revolted  against  the 
thought  of  such  an  accost.  So  we  stood  for  a  second, 
all  our  life  in  our  eyes,  exchanging  salvos  of  attraction 
and  yet  each  resisting;  and  then,  with  a  great  effort  of 
the  will,  and  conscious  at  the  same  time  of  a  sudden 
bitterness  of  disappointment,  I  turned  and  went  away 
in  the  same  silence. 

What  power  lay  upon  me  that  I  could  not  speak  ? 
And  she,  why  was  she  also  silent  ?  Why  did  she  draw 
away  before  me  dumbly,  with  fascinated  eyes?  Was 
this  love  ?  or  was  it  a  mere  brute  attraction,  mindless 
and  inevitable,  like  that  of  the  magnet  for  the  steel  ? 
We  had  never  spoken,  we  were  wholly  strangers;  and 
yet  an  influence,  strong  as  the  grasp  of  a  giant,  swept 
us  silently  together.  On  my  side,  it  filled  me  with  im- 
patience; and  yet  I  was  sure  that  she  was  worthy;  I 
had  seen  her  books,  read  her  verses,  and  thus,  in  a 
sense,  divined  the  soul  of  my  mistress.  But  on  her 
side,  it  struck  me  almost  cold.    Of  me,  she  knew  noth- 

177 


OLALLA 

ing  but  my  bodily  favour;  she  was  drawn  to  me  as 
stones  fall  to  earth;  the  laws  that  rule  the  earth  con- 
ducted her,  unconsenting,  to  my  arms ;  and  I  drew  back 
at  the  thought  of  such  a  bridal,  and  began  to  be  jealous 
for  myself.  It  was  not  thus  that  I  desired  to  be  loved. 
And  then  I  began  to  fall  into  a  great  pity  for  the  girl  her- 
self I  thought  how  sharp  must  be  her  mortification, 
that  she,  the  student,  the  recluse,  Felipe's  saintly  moni- 
tress,  should  have  thus  confessed  an  overweening  weak- 
ness for  a  man  with  whom  she  had  never  exchanged  a 
word.  And  at  the  coming  of  pity,  all  other  thoughts 
were  swallowed  up;  and  I  longed  only  to  find  and  con- 
sole and  reassure  her;  to  tell  her  how  wholly  her  love 
was  returned  on  my  side,  and  how  her  choice,  even  if 
blindly  made,  was  not  unworthy. 

The  next  day  it  was  glorious  weather;  depth  upon 
depth  of  blue  over-canopied  the  mountains;  the  sun 
shone  wide;  and  the  wind  in  the  trees  and  the  many 
falling  torrents  in  the  mountains  filled  the  air  with  deli- 
cate and  haunting  music.  Yet  I  was  prostrated  with 
sadness.  My  heart  wept  for  the  sight  of  Olalla,  as  a 
child  weeps  for  its  mother.  I  sat  down  on  a  boulder 
on  the  verge  of  the  low  cliffs  that  bound  the  plateau  to 
the  north.  Thence  I  looked  down  into  the  wooded 
valley  of  a  stream,  where  no  foot  came.  In  the  mood  I 
was  in,  it  was  even  touching  to  behold  the  place  un- 
tenanted; it  lacked  Olalla;  and  I  thought  of  the  delight 
and  glory  of  a  life  passed  wholly  with  her  in  that  strong 
air,  and  among  these  rugged  and  lovely  surroundings, 
at  first  with  a  whimpering  sentiment,  and  then  again 
with  such  a  fiery  joy  that  I  seemed  to  grow  in  strength 
and  stature,  like  a  Samson. 

178 


OLALLA 

And  then  suddenly  I  was  aware  of  Olalla  drawing 
near.  She  appeared  out  of  a  grove  of  cork-trees,  and 
came  straight  towards  me;  and  I  stood  up  and  waited. 
She  seemed  in  her  walking  a  creature  of  such  life  and 
fire  and  lightness  as  amazed  me;  yet  she  came  quietly 
and  slowly.  Her  energy  was  in  the  slowness;  but  for 
inimitable  strength,  I  felt  she  would  have  run,  she 
would  have  flown  to  me.  Still,  as  she  approached,  she 
kept  her  eyes  lowered  to  the  ground ;  and  when  she  had 
drawn  quite  near,  it  was  without  one  glance  that  she 
addressed  me.  At  the  first  note  of  her  voice  I  started. 
It  was  for  this  I  had  been  waiting;  this  was  the  last  test 
of  my  love.  And  lo,  her  enunciation  was  precise  and 
clear,  not  lisping  and  incomplete  like  that  of  her  family ; 
and  the  voice,  though  deeper  than  usual  with  women, 
was  still  both  youthful  and  womanly.  She  spoke  in  a 
rich  chord ;  golden  contralto  strains  mingled  with  hoarse- 
ness, as  the  red  threads  were  mingled  with  the  brown 
among  her  tresses.  It  was  not  only  a  voice  that  spoke 
to  my  heart  directly ;  but  it  spoke  to  me  of  her.  And  yet 
her  words  immediately  plunged  me  back  upon  despair. 
"You  will  go  away,"  she  said,  "to-day." 
Her  example  broke  the  bonds  of  my  speech ;  I  felt  as 
lightened  of  a  weight,  or  as  if  a  spell  had  been  dissolved. 
1  know  not  in  what  words  I  answered ;  but,  standing 
before  her  on  the  cliffs,  I  poured  out  the  whole  ardour 
of  my  love,  telling  her  that  I  lived  upon  the  thought  of 
her,  slept  only  to  dream  of  her  loveliness,  and  would 
gladly  forswear  my  country,  my  language,  and  my 
friends,  to  live  for  ever  by  her  side.  And  then,  strongly 
commanding  myself,  I  changed  the  note;  1  reassured, 
I  comforted  her;  I  told  her  I  had  divined  in  her  a  pious 

179 


OLALLA 

and  heroic  spirit,  with  which  I  was  worthy  to  sympa- 
thise, and  which  I  longed  to  share  and  lighten.  **  Na- 
ture," I  told  her,  "was  the  voice  of  God,  which  men 
disobey  at  peril;  and  if  we  were  thus  dumbly  drawn 
together,  ay,  even  as  by  a  miracle  of  love,  it  must  imply 
a  divine  fitness  in  our  souls;  we  must  be  made,"  I  said 
— '*  made  for  one  another.  We  should  be  mad  rebels," 
I  cried  out — **  mad  rebels  against  God,  not  to  obey  this 
instinct." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  You  will  go  to-day,"  she  re- 
peated, and  then  with  a  gesture,  and  in  a  sudden,  sharp 
note — **no,  not  to-day,"  she  cried,  "to-morrow." 

But  at  this  sign  of  relenting,  power  came  in  upon  me 
in  a  tide.  I  stretched  out  my  arms  and  called  upon  her 
name;  and  she  leaped  to  me  and  clung  to  me.  The 
hills  rocked  about  us,  the  earth  quailed ;  a  shock  as  of 
a  blow  went  through  me  and  left  me  blind  and  dizzy. 
And  the  next  moment  she  had  thrust  me  back,  broken 
rudely  from  my  arms,  and  fled  with  the  speed  of  a  deer 
among  the  cork-trees. 

I  stood  and  shouted  to  the  mountains ;  I  turned  and 
went  back  towards  the  residencia,  walking  upon  air. 
She  sent  me  away,  and  yet  I  had  but  to  call  upon  her 
name  and  she  came  to  me.  These  were  but  the  weak- 
nesses of  girls,  from  which  even  she,  the  strangest  of 
her  sex,  was  not  exempted.  Go  ?  Not  I,  Olalla  —  O, 
not  I,  Olalla,  my  Olalla!  A  bird  sang  near  by;  and  in 
that  season,  birds  were  rare.  It  bade  me  be  of  good 
cheer.  And  once  more  the  whole  countenance  of  na- 
ture, from  the  ponderous  and  stable  mountains  down 
to  the  lightest  leaf  and  the  smallest  darting  fly  in  the 
shadow  of  the  groves,  began  to  stir  before  me  and  to 

1 80 


OLALLA 

put  on  the  lineaments  of  life  and  wear  a  face  of  awful 
joy.  The  sunshine  struck  upon  the  hills,  strong  as  a 
hammer  on  the  anvil,  and  the  hills  shook;  the  earth, 
under  that  vigorous  insolation,  yielded  up  heady  scents; 
the  woods  smouldered  in  the  blaze.  1  felt  the  thrill  of 
travail  and  delight  run  through  the  earth.  Something 
elemental,  something  rude,  violent  and  savage,  in  the 
love  that  sang  in  my  heart,  was  like  a  key  to  nature's 
secrets ;  and  the  very  stones  that  rattled  under  my  feet 
appeared  alive  and  friendly.  Olalla!  Her  touch  had 
quickened,  and  renewed,  and  strung  me  up  to  the  old 
pitch  of  concert  with  the  rugged  earth,  to  a  swelling  of 
the  soul  that  men  learn  to  forget  in  their  polite  assem- 
blies. Love  burned  in  me  like  rage ;  tenderness  waxed 
fierce;  I  hated,  1  adored,  I  pitied,  1  revered  her  with 
ecstasy.  She  seemed  the  link  that  bound  me  in  with 
dead  things  on  the  one  hand,  and  with  our  pure  and 
pitying  God  upon  the  other;  a  thing  brutal  and  divine, 
and  akin  at  once  to  the  innocence  and  to  the  unbridled 
forces  of  the  earth. 

My  head  thus  reeling,  I  came  into  the  courtyard  of 
the  residencia,  and  the  sight  of  the  mother  struck  me 
like  a  revelation.  She  sat  there,  all  sloth  and  content- 
ment, blinking  under  the  strong  sunshine,  branded  with 
a  passive  enjoyment,  a  creature  set  quite  apart,  before 
whom  my  ardour  fell  away  like  a  thing  ashamed.  I 
stopped  a  moment,  and,  commanding  such  shaken 
tones  as  I  was  able,  said  a  word  or  two.  She  looked  at 
me  with  her  unfathomable  kindness;  her  voice  in  reply 
sounded  vaguely  out  of  the  realm  of  peace  in  which  she 
slumbered,  and  there  fell  on  my  mind,  for  the  first  time, 
a  sense  of  respect  for  one  so  uniformly  innocent  and 

i8i 


OLALLA 

happy,  and  I  passed  on  in  a  kind  of  wonder  at  myself, 
that  I  should  be  so  much  disquieted. 

On  my  table  there  lay  a  piece  of  the  same  yellow 
paper  I  had  seen  in  the  north  room ;  it  was  written  on 
with  pencil  in  the  same  hand,  Olalla's  hand,  and  I  picked 
it  up  with  a  sudden  sinking  of  alarm,  and  read,  "If  you 
have  any  kindness  for  Olalla,  if  you  have  any  chivalry 
for  a  creature  sorely  wrought,  go  from  here  to-day ;  in 
pity,  in  honour,  for  the  sake  of  Him  who  died,  I  suppli- 
cate that  you  shall  go."  1  looked  at  this  awhile  in  mere 
stupidity,  then  I  began  to  awaken  to  a  weariness  and 
horror  of  life  ;  the  sunshine  darkened  outside  on  the 
bare  hills,  and  I  began  to  shake  like  a  man  in  terror. 
The  vacancy  thus  suddenly  opened  in  my  life  unmanned 
me  like  a  physical  void.  It  was  not  my  heart,  it  was  not 
my  happiness,  it  was  life  itself  that  was  involved.  I 
could  not  lose  her.  I  said  so,  and  stood  repeating  it. 
And  then,  like  one  in  a  dream,  I  moved  to  the  window, 
put  forth  my  hand  to  open  the  casement,  and  thrust  it 
through  the  pane.  The  blood  spurted  from  my  wrist; 
and  with  an  instantaneous  quietude  and  command  of 
myself,  I  pressed  my  thumb  on  the  little  leaping  foun- 
tain, and  reflected  what  to  do.  In  that  empty  room 
there  was  nothing  to  my  purpose ;  I  felt,  besides,  that  I 
required  assistance.  There  shot  into  my  mind  a  hope 
that  Olalla  herself  might  be  my  helper,  and  I  turned 
and  went  downstairs,  still  keeping  my  thumb  upon  the 
wound. 

There  was  no  sign  of  either  Olalla  or  Felipe,  and  I 
addressed  myself  to  the  recess,  whither  the  Senora  had 
now  drawn  quite  back  and  sat  dozing  close  before  the 
fire,  for  no  degree  of  heat  appeared  too  much  for  her 

182 


OLALLA 

"Pardon  me,"  said  I,  "if  I  disturb  you,  but  I  must 
apply  to  you  for  help." 

She  looked  up  sleepily  and  asked  me  what  it  was,  and 
with  the  very  words,  I  thought  she  drew  in  her  breath 
with  a  widening  of  the  nostrils  and  seemed  to  come 
suddenly  and  fully  alive. 

"  1  have  cut  myself,"  I  said,  "  and  rather  badly.  See!" 
And  I  held  out  my  two  hands  from  which  the  blood  was 
oozing  and  dripping. 

Her  great  eyes  opened  wide,  the  pupils  shrank  into 
points ;  a  veil  seemed  to  fall  from  her  face,  and  leave  it 
sharply  expressive  and  yet  inscrutable.  And  as  I  still 
stood,  marvelling  a  little  at  her  disturbance,  she  came 
swiftly  up  to  me,  and  stooped  and  caught  me  by  the 
hand ;  and  the  next  moment  my  hand  was  at  her  mouth, 
and  she  had  bitten  me  to  the  bone.  The  pang  of  the 
bite,  the  sudden  spurting  of  blood,  and  the  monstrous 
horror  of  the  act,  flashed  through  me  all  in  one,  and  1 
beat  her  back;  and  she  sprang  at  me  again  and  again, 
with  bestial  cries,  cries  that  I  recognised,  such  cries  as 
had  awakened  me  on  the  night  of  the  high  wind.  Her 
strength  was  like  that  of  madness;  mine  was  rapidly 
ebbing  with  the  loss  of  blood ;  my  mind  besides  was 
whirling  with  the  abhorrent  strangeness  of  the  on- 
slaught, and  I  was  already  forced  against  the  wall,  when 
Olalla  ran  betwixt  us,  and  Felipe,  following  at  a  bound, 
pinned  down  his  mother  on  the  floor. 

A  trance-like  weakness  fell  upon  me ;  I  saw,  heard, 
and  felt,  but  1  was  incapable  of  movement.  I  heard 
the  struggle  roll  to  and  fro  upon  the  floor,  the  yells  of 
that  catamount  ringing  up  to  Heaven  as  she  strove  to 
reach  me.     I  felt  Olalla  clasp  me  in  her  arms,  her  hair 

183 


OLALLA 

falling  on  my  face,  and,  with  the  strength  of  a  man, 
raise  and  half  drag,  half  carry  me  upstairs  into  my  own 
room,  where  she  cast  me  down  upon  the  bed.  Then  I 
saw  her  hasten  to  the  door  and  lock  it,  and  stand  an 
instant  listening  to  the  savage  cries  that  shook  the  resi- 
dencia.  And  then,  swift  and  light  as  a  thought,  she 
was  again  beside  me,  binding  up  my  hand,  laying  it  in 
her  bosom,  moaning  and  mourning  over  it  with  dove- 
like sounds.  They  were  not  words  that  came  to  her, 
they  were  sounds  more  beautiful  than  speech,  infinitely 
touching,  infinitely  tender;  and  yet  as  I  lay  there,  a 
thought  stung  to  my  heart,  a  thought  wounded  me  like 
a  sword,  a  thought,  like  a  worm  in  a  flower,  profaned 
the  holiness  of  my  love.  Yes,  they  were  beautiful 
sounds,  and  they  were  inspired  by  human  tenderness ; 
but  was  their  beauty  human  ? 

All  day  I  lay  there.  For  a  long  time  the  cries  of  that 
nameless  female  thing,  as  she  struggled  with  her  half- 
witted whelp,  resounded  through  the  house,  and  pierced 
me  with  despairing  sorrow  and  disgust.  They  were  the 
death-cry  of  my  love ;  my  love  was  murdered ;  it  was 
not  only  dead,  but  an  offence  to  me;  and  yet,  .think  as 
I  pleased,  feel  as  I  must,  it  still  swelled  within  me  like  a 
storm  of  sweetness,  and  my  heart  melted  at  her  looks 
and  touch.  This  horror  that  had  sprung  out,  this 
doubt  upon  Olalla,  this  savage  and  bestial  strain  that 
ran  not  only  through  the  whole  behaviour  of  her  family, 
but  found  a  place  in  the  very  foundations  and  story  of 
our  love  —  though  it  appalled,  though  it  shocked  and 
sickened  me,  was  yet  not  of  power  to  break  the  knot 
of  my  infatuation. 

When  the  cries  had  ceased,  there  came  the  scraping  at 
184 


OLALLA 

the  door,  by  which  I  knew  Felipe  was  without;  and 
Olalla  went  and  spoke  to  him  —  I  know  not  what.  With 
that  exception,  she  stayed  close  beside  me,  now  kneeling 
by  my  bed  and  fervently  praying,  now  sitting  with  her 
eyes  upon  mine.  So  then,  for  these  six  hours  I  drank 
in  her  beauty,  and  silently  perused  the  story  in  her  face. 
1  saw  the  golden  coin  hover  on  her  breaths ;  I  saw  her 
eyes  darken  and  brighten,  and  still  speak  no  language 
but  that  of  an  unfathomable  kindness ;  I  saw  the  fault- 
less face,  and,  through  the  robe,  the  lines  of  the  fault- 
less body.  Night  came  at  last,  and  in  the  growing 
darkness  of  the  chamber,  the  sight  of  her  slowly  melted ; 
but  even  then  the  touch  of  her  smooth  hand  lingered  in 
mine  and  talked  with  me.  To  lie  thus  in  deadly  weak- 
ness and  drink  in  the  traits  of  the  beloved,  is  to  reawake 
to  love  from  whatever  shock  of  disillusion.  1  reasoned 
with  myself ;  and  1  shut  my  eyes  on  horrors,  and  again 
I  was  very  bold  to  accept  the  worst.  What  mattered  it, 
if  that  imperious  sentiment  survived ;  if  her  eyes  still 
beckoned  and  attached  me;  if  now,  even  as  before, 
every  fibre  of  my  dull  body  yearned  and  turned  to  her  ? 
Late  on  in  the  night  some  strength  revived  in  me,  and 
I  spoke: — 

** Olalla,"  1  said,  "nothing  matters;  I  ask  nothing;  I 
am  content;  1  love  you." 

She  knelt  down  awhile  and  prayed,  and  I  devoutly 
respected  her  devotions.  The  moon  had  begun  to  shine 
in  upon  one  side  of  each  of  the  three  windows,  and 
make  a  misty  clearness  in  the  room,  by  which  1  saw  her 
indistinctly.  When  she  re-arose  she  made  the  sign  of 
the  cross. 

"It  is  for  me  to  speak,"  she  said,  "and  for  you  to 
185 


OLALLA 

listen.  I  know ;  you  can  but  guess.  I  prayed,  how  I 
prayed  for  you  to  leave  this  place.  1  begged  it  of  you, 
and  I  know  you  would  have  granted  me  even  this ;  or 
if  not,  O  let  me  think  so! " 

"\  love  you,"  1  said. 

"And  yet  you  have  lived  in  the  world,"  she  said; 
after  a  pause,  ''you  are  a  man  and  wise;  and  I  am  but 
a  child.  Forgive  me,  if  I  seem  to  teach,  who  am  as 
ignorant  as  the  trees  of  the  mountain ;  but  those  who 
learn  much  do  but  skim  the  face  of  knowledge;  they 
seize  the  laws,  they  conceive  the  dignity  of  the  design- 
the  horror  of  the  living  fact  fades  from  their  memory. 
It  is  we  who  sit  at  home  with  evil  who  remember,  1 
think,  and  are  warned  and  pity.  Go,  rather,  go  now, 
and  keep  me  in  mind.  So  I  shall  have  a  life  in  the 
cherished  places  of  your  memory :  a  life  as  much  my 
own,  as  that  which  I  lead  in  this  body." 

"  I  love  you,"  I  said  once  more;  and  reaching  out  my 
weak  hand,  took  hers,  and  carried  it  to  my  lips,  and 
kissed  it.  Nor  did  she  resist,  but  winced  a  little ;  and  I 
could  see  her  look  upon  me  with  a  frown  that  was  not 
unkindly,  only  sad  and  baffled.  And  then  it  seemed 
she  made  a  call  upon  her  resolution ;  plucked  my  hand 
towards  her,  herself  at  the  same  time  leaning  somewhat 
forward,  and  laid  it  on  the  beating  of  her  heart. 
"There!"  she  cried,  "you  feel  the  very  footfall  of  my 
life.  It  only  moves  for  you ;  it  is  yours.  But  is  it  even 
mine  ?  It  is  mine  indeed  to  offer  you,  as  I  might  take 
the  coin  from  my  neck,  as  1  might  break  a  live  branch 
from  a  tree,  and  give  it  you.  And  yet  not  mine!  1 
dwell,  or  I  think  I  dwell  (if  1  exist  at  all),  somewhere 
apart,  an  impotent  prisoner,    and  carried  about  and 

1 86 


OLALLA 

deafened  by  a  mob  that  I  disown.  This  capsule,  such 
as  throbs  against  the  sides  of  animals,  knows  you  at  a 
touch  for  its  master;  ay,  it  loves  you!  But  my  soul, 
does  my  soul  ?  I  think  not;  1  know  not,  fearing  to  ask. 
Yet  when  you  spoke  to  me  your  words  were  of  the 
soul ;  it  is  of  the  soul  that  you  ask  —  it  is  only  from  the 
soul  that  you  would  take  me." 

''Olalla,"  I  said,  "the  soul  and  the  body  are  one, 
and  mostly  so  in  love.  What  the  body  chooses,  the 
soul  loves;  where  the  body  clings,  the  soul  cleaves; 
body  for  body,  soul  to  soul  they  come  together  at  God's 
signal;  and  the  lower  part  (if  we  can  call  aught  low)  is 
only  the  footstool  and  foundation  of  the  highest." 

"Have  you,"  she  said,  "seen  the  portraits  in  the 
house  of  my  fathers  ?  Have  you  looked  at  my  mother 
or  at  Felipe  ?  Have  your  eyes  ever  rested  on  that  pic- 
ture that  hangs  by  your  bed  ?  She  who  sat  for  it  died 
ages  ago;  and  she  did  evil  in  her  life.  But  look  again: 
there  is  my  hand  to  the  least  line,  there  are  my  eyes 
and  my  hair.  What  is  mine,  then,  and  what  am  1  ? 
If  not  a  curve  in  this  poor  body  of  mine  (which  you 
love,  and  for  the  sake  of  which  you  dotingly  dream  that 
you  love  me),  not  a  gesture  that  I  can  frame,  not  a  tone 
of  my  voice,  not  any  look  from  my  eyes,  no,  not  even 
now  when  I  speak  to  him  I  love,  but  has  belonged  to 
others  ?  Others,  ages  dead,  have  wooed  other  men  with 
my  eyes;  other  men  have  heard  the  pleading  of  the 
same  voice  that  now  sounds  in  your  ears.  The  hands 
of  the  dead  are  in  my  bosom;  they  move  me,  they 
pluck  me,  they  guide  me;  1  am  a  puppet  at  their  com- 
mand; and  I  but  reinform  features  and  attributes  that 
have  long  been  laid  aside  from  evil  in  the  quiet  of  the 

187 


OLALLA 

grave.  Is  it  me  you  love,  friend  ?  or  the  race  that  made 
me  ?  The  girl  who  does  not  know  and  cannot  answer 
for  the  least  portion  of  herself  ?  or  the  stream  of  which 
she  is  a  transitory  eddy,  the  tree  of  which  she  is  the 
passing  fruit  ?  The  race  exists ;  it  is  old,  it  is  ever  young, 
it  carries  its  eternal  destiny  in  its  bosom ;  upon  it,  like 
waves  upon  the  sea,  individual  succeeds  to  individual, 
mocked  with  a  semblance  of  self-control,  but  they  are 
nothing.  We  speak  of  the  soul,  but  the  soul  is  in  the 
race." 

''You  fret  against  the  common  law,"  I  said.  " You 
rebel  against  the  voice  of  God,  which  he  has  made  so 
winning  to  convince,  so  imperious  to  command.  Hear 
it,  and  how  it  speaks  between  us !  Your  hand  clings 
to  mine,  your  heart  leaps  at  my  touch,  the  unknown 
elements  of  which  we  are  compounded  awake  and  run 
together  at  a  look ;  the  clay  of  the  earth  remembers  its 
independent  life  and  yearns  to  join  us ;  we  are  drawn 
together  as  the  stars  are  turned  about  in  space,  or  as 
the  tides  ebb  and  flow,  by  things  older  and  greater  than 
we  ourselves. " 

"Alas!"  she  said,  ''what  can  1  say  to  you.?  My 
fathers,  eight  hundred  years  ago,  ruled  all  this  prov- 
ince: they  were  wise,  great,  cunning,  and  cruel;  they 
were  a  picked  race  of  the  Spanish ;  their  flags  led  in 
war;  the  king  called  them  his  cousin;  the  people, 
when  the  rope  was  slung  for  them  or  when  they  re- 
turned and  found  their  hovels  smoking,  blasphemed 
their  name.  Presently  a  change  began.  Man  has 
risen ;  if  he  has  sprung  from  the  brutes,  he  can  descend 
again  to  the  same  level.  The  breath  of  weariness  blew 
on  their  humanity  and  the  cords  relaxed ;  they  began  to 


OLALLA 

go  down ;  their  minds  fell  on  sleep,  their  passions  awoke 
in  gusts,  heady  and  senseless  like  the  wind  in  the  gut- 
ters of  the  mountains ;  beauty  was  still  handed  down, 
but  no  longer  the  guiding  wit  nor  the  human  heart;  the 
seed  passed  on,  it  was  wrapped  in  flesh,  the  flesh  cov- 
ered the  bones,  but  they  were  the  bones  and  the  flesh 
of  brutes,  and  their  mind  was  as  the  mind  of  flies.  I 
speak  to  you  as  1  dare;  but  you  have  seen  for  yourself 
how  the  wheel  has  gone  backward  with  my  doomed 
race.  I  stand,  as  it  were,  upon  a  little  rising  ground  in 
this  desperate  descent,  and  see  both  before  and  behind, 
both  what  we  have  lost  and  to  what  we  are  condemned 
to  go  farther  downward.  And  shall  1  —  1  that  dwell 
apart  in  the  house  of  the  dead,  my  body,  loathing  its 
ways  —  shall  I  repeat  the  spell  .^  Shall  I  bind  another 
spirit,  reluctant  as  my  own,  into  this  bewitched  and 
tempest-broken  tenement  that  I  now  suffer  in  ?  Shall 
I  hand  down  this  cursed  vessel  of  humanity,  charge  it 
with  fresh  life  as  with  fresh  poison,  and  dash  it,  like  a 
fire,  in  the  faces  of  posterity  ?  But  my  vow  has  been 
given;  the  race  shall  cease  from  off  the  earth.  At  this 
hour  my  brother  is  making  ready ;  his  foot  will  soon  be 
on  the  stair;  and  you  will  go  with  him  and  pass  out  of 
my  sight  for  ever.  Think  of  me  sometimes  as  one  to 
whom  the  lesson  of  life  was  very  harshly  told,  but  who 
heard  it  with  courage;  as  one  who  loved  you  indeed, 
but  who  hated  herself  so  deeply  that  her  love  was  hate- 
ful to  her;  as  one  who  sent  you  away  and  yet  would 
have  longed  to  keep  you  for  ever ;  who  had  no  dearer 
hope  than  to  forget  you,  and  no  greater  fear  than  to  be 
forgotten." 
She  had  drawn  towards  the  door  as  she  spoke,  her 
189 


OLALLA 

rich  voice  sounding  softer  and  farther  away;  and  with 
the  last  word  she  was  gone,  and  I  lay  alone  in  the  moon- 
lit chamber.  What  I  might  have  done  had  not  1  lain 
bound  by  my  extreme  weakness,  I  know  not;  but  as  it 
was  there  fell  upon  me  a  great  and  blank  despair.  It 
was  not  long  before  there  shone  in  at  the  door  the  ruddy 
glimmer  of  a  lantern,  and  Felipe  coming,  charged  me 
without  a  word  upon  his  shoulders,  and  carried  me 
down  to  the  great  gate,  where  the  cart  was  waiting. 
In  the  moonlight  the  hills  stood  out  sharply,  as  if  they 
were  of  cardboard;  on  the  glimmering  surface  of  the 
plateau,  and  from  among  the  low  trees  which  swung 
together  and  sparkled  in  the  wind,  the  great  black  cube 
of  the  residencia  stood  out  bulkily,  its  mass  only  broken 
by  three  dimly  lighted  windows  in  the  northern  front 
above  the  gate.  They  were  Olalla's  windows,  and  as 
the  cart  jolted  onwards  I  kept  my  eyes  fixed  upon  them 
till,  where  the  road  dipped  into  a  valley,  they  were  lost 
to  my  view  for  ever.  Felipe  walked  in  silence  beside 
the  shafts,  but  from  time  to  time  he  would  check  the 
mule  and  seem  to  look  back  upon  me;  and  at  length 
drew  quite  near  and  laid  his  hand  upon  my  head. 
There  was  such  kindness  in  the  touch,  and  such  a  sim- 
plicity, as  of  the  brutes,  that  tears  broke  from  me  like 
the  bursting  of  an  artery. 

"Felipe,"  I  said,  "take  me  where  they  will  ask  no 
questions." 

He  said  never  a  word,  but  he  turned  his  mule  about, 
end  for  end,  retraced  some  part  of  the  way  we  had  gone, 
and,  striking  into  another  path,  led  me  to  the  mountain 
village,  which  was,  as  we  say  in  Scotland,  the  kirkton 
of  that  thinly  peopled  district.     Some  broken  memories 

igo 


OLALLA 

dwell  in  my  mind  of  the  day  breaking  over  the  plain,  of 
the  cart  stopping,  of  arms  that  helped  me  down,  of  a 
bare  room  into  which  I  was  carried,  and  of  a  swoon 
that  fell  upon  me  like  sleep. 

The  next  day  and  the  days  following,  the  old  priest 
was  often  at  my  side  with  his  snuff-box  and  prayer- 
book,  and  after  a  while,  when  1  began  to  pick  up 
strength,  he  told  me  that  1  was  now  on  a  fair  way  to 
recovery,  and  must  as  soon  as  possible  hurry  my  de- 
parture; whereupon,  without  naming  any  reason,  he 
took  snuff  and  looked  at  me  sideways.  I  did  not  affect 
ignorance.  I  knew  he  must  have  seen  Olalla.  "Sir," 
said  I,  "you  know  that  I  do  not  ask  in  wantonness. 
What  of  that  family.?" 

He  said  they  were  very  unfortunate;  that  it  seemed 
a  declining  race,  and  that  they  were  very  poor  and  had 
been  much  neglected. 

"But  she  has  not,"  1  said.  "Thanks,  doubtless,  to 
yourself,  she  is  instructed  and  wise  beyond  the  use  of 
women." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "the  Seflorita  is  well-informed.  But 
the  family  has  been  neglected." 

"The  mother?"  I  queried. 

"Yes,  the  mother  too,"  said  the  Padre,  taking  snuff. 
"  But  Felipe  is  a  well-intentioned  lad." 

"  The  mother  is  odd  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Very  odd,"  replied  the  priest. 

"I  think,  sir,  we  beat  about  the  bush, "  said  I.  "You 
must  know  more  of  my  affairs  than  you  allow.  You 
must  know  my  curiosity  to  be  justified  on  many  grounds. 
Will  you  not  be  frank  with  me .?" 

"My  son,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "I  will  be  very 
191 


OLALLA 

frank  with  you  on  matters  within  my  competence ;  on 
those  of  which  I  know  nothing  it  does  not  require  much 
discretion  to  be  silent.  I  will  not  fence  with  you,  I 
take  your  meaning  perfectly ;  and  what  can  I  say,  but 
that  we  are  all  in  God's  hands,  and  that  His  ways  are 
not  as  our  ways  ?  1  have  even  advised  with  my  su- 
periors in  the  church,  but  they,  too,  were  dumb.  It  is 
a  great  mystery." 

*'  Is  she  mad.^"  I  asked. 

"I  will  answer  you  according  to  my  belief.  She  is 
not,"  returned  the  Padre,  ''or  she  was  not.  When  she 
was  young  —  God  help  me,  I  fear  I  neglected  that  wild 
lamb  —  she  was  surely  sane;  and  yet,  although  it  did 
not  run  to  such  heights,  the  same  strain  was  already 
notable ;  it  had  been  so  before  her  in  her  father,  ay,  and 
before  him,  and  this  inclined  me,  perhaps,  to  think  too 
lightly  of  it.  But  these  things  go  on  growing,  not  only 
in  the  individual  but  in  the  race." 

"When  she  was  young,"  I  began,  and  my  voice 
failed  me  for  a  moment,  and  it  was  only  with  a  great 
effort  that  I  was  able  to  add,  ''was  she  like  Olalla.?" 

"Now  God  forbid!"  exclaimed  the  Padre.  "God 
forbid  that  any  man  should  think  so  slightingly  of  my 
favourite  penitent!  No,  no;  the  Sefiorita  (but  for  her 
beauty,  which  I  wish  most  honestly  she  had  less  of) 
has  not  a  hair's  resemblance  to  what  her  mother  was  at 
the  same  age.  I  could  not  bear  to  have  you  think  so ; 
though.  Heaven  knows,  it  were,  perhaps,  better  that 
you  should." 

At  this,  I  raised  myself  in  bed,  and  opened  my  heart 
to  the  old  man ;  telling  him  cf  our  love  and  of  her  de- 
cision,  owning  my  own   horrors,    my  own   passing 

192 


OLALLA 

fancies,  but  telling  him  that  these  were  at  an  end ;  and 
with  something  more  than  a  purely  formal  submission, 
appealing  to  his  judgment. 

He  heard  me  very  patiently  and  without  surprise; 
and  when  I  had  done,  he  sat  for  some  time  silent. 
Then  he  began:  "The  church,"  and  instantly  broke  off 
again  to  apologise.  '*  I  had  forgotten,  my  child,  that  you 
were  not  a  Christian,"  said  he.  "And  indeed,  upon 
a  point  so  highly  unusual,  even  the  church  can  scarce 
be  said  to  have  decided.  But  would  you  have  my 
opinion  ?  The  Senorita  is,  in  a  matter  of  this  kind, 
the  best  judge;  1  would  accept  her  judgment." 

On  the  back  of  that  he  went  away,  nor  was  he 
thenceforward  so  assiduous  in  his  visits ;  indeed,  even 
when  I  began  to  get  about  again,  he  plainly  feared  and 
deprecated  my  society,  not  as  in  distaste  but  much 
as  a  man  might  be  disposed  to  flee  from  the  riddling 
sphinx.  The  villagers,  too,  avoided  me;  they  were 
unwilling  to  be  my  guides  upon  the  mountain.  I 
thought  they  looked  at  me  askance,  and  I  made  sure 
that  the  more  superstitious  crossed  themselves  on  my 
approach.  At  first  I  set  this  down  to  my  heretical  opin- 
ions; but  it  began  at  length  to  dawn  upon  me  that  if 
I  was  thus  redoubted  it  was  because  I  had  stayed  at 
the  residencia.  All  men  despise  the  savage  notions  of 
such  peasantry ;  and  yet  I  was  conscious  of  a  chill  sha- 
dow that  seemed  to  fall  and  dwell  upon  my  love.  It 
did  not  conquer,  but  I  may  not  deny  that  it  restrained 
my  ardour. 

Some  miles  westward  of  the  village  there  was  a  gap 
in  the  sierra,  from  which  the  eye  plunged  direct  upon 
the  residencia ;  and  thither  it  became  my  daily  habit  to 

193 


OLALLA 

repair.  A  wood  crowned  the  summit;  and  just  where 
the  pathway  issued  from  its  fringes,  it  was  overhung 
by  a  considerable  shelf  of  rock,  and  that,  in  its  turn, 
was  surmounted  by  a  crucifix  of  the  size  of  life  and 
more  than  usually  painful  in  design.  This  was  my 
perch ;  thence,  day  after  day,  I  looked  down  upon  the 
plateau,  and  the  great  old  house,  and  could  see  Felipe, 
no  bigger  than  a  fly,  going  to  and  fro  about  the  garden. 
Sometimes  mists  would  draw  across  the  view,  and  be 
broken  up  again  by  mountain  winds;  sometimes  the 
plain  slumbered  below  me  in  unbroken  sunshine;  it 
would  sometimes  be  all  blotted  out  by  rain.  This  dis- 
tant post,  these  interrupted  sights  of  the  place  where 
my  life  had  been  so  strangely  changed  suited  the  inde- 
cision of  my  humour.  I  passed  whole  days  there,  de- 
bating with  myself  the  various  elements  of  our  position ; 
now  leaning  to  the  suggestions  of  love,  now  giving  an 
ear  to  prudence,  and  in  the  end  halting  irresolute  between 
the  two. 

One  day,  as  I  was  sitting  on  my  rock,  there  came  by 
that  way  a  somewhat  gaunt  peasant  wrapped  in  a  man- 
tle. He  was  a  stranger,  and  plainly  did  not  know  me 
even  by  repute ;  for,  instead  of  keeping  the  other  side, 
he  drew  near  and  sat  down  beside  me,  and  we  had 
soon  fallen  in  talk.  Among  other  things  he  told  me  he 
had  been  a  muleteer,  and  in  former  years  had  much 
frequented  these  mountains ;  later  on,  he  had  followed 
the  army  with  his  mules,  had  realised  a  competence,  and 
was  now  living  retired  with  his  family. 

'*Do  you  know  that  house  .>"  1  inquired,  at  last, 
pointing  to  xhe  residencia,  for  1  readily  wearied  of  any 
talk  that  kept  me  from  the  thought  of  Olalla. 

194 


OLALLA 

He  looked  at  me  darkly  and  crossed  himself. 

"Too  well,"  he  said,  **it  was  there  that  one  of  my 
comrades  sold  himself  to  Satan ;  the  Virgin  shield  us 
from  temptations!  He  has  paid  the  price;  he  is  now 
burning  in  the  reddest  place  in  Hell!" 

A  fear  came  upon  me;  I  could  answer  nothing;  and 
presently  the  man  resumed,  as  if  to  himself.  **  Yes," 
he  said,  "O  yes,  I  know  it.  I  have  passed  its  doors. 
There  was  snow  upon  the  pass,  the  wind  was  driving 
it;  sure  enough  there  was  death  that  night  upon  the 
mountains,  but  there  was  worse  beside  the  hearth.  1 
took  him  by  the  arm,  Senor,  and  dragged  him  to  the 
gate ;  I  conjured  him,  by  all  he  loved  and  respected,  to 
go  forth  with  me;  1  went  on  my  knees  before  him  in 
the  snow;  and  I  could  see  he  was  moved  by  my  en- 
treaty. And  just  then  she  came  out  on  the  gallery,  and 
called  him  by  his  name;  and  he  turned,  and  there  was 
she  standing  with  a  lamp  in  her  hand  and  smiling  on 
him  to  come  back.  I  cried  out  aloud  to  God,  and  threw 
my  arms  about  him,  but  he  put  me  by,  and  left  me 
alone.  He  had  made  his  choice ;  God  help  us.  1  would 
pray  for  him,  but  to  what  end  ?  there  are  sins  that  not 
even  the  Pope  can  loose." 

' *  And  your  friend, "  I  asked,  ' '  what  became  of  him  ?  " 

"Nay,  God  knows,"  said  the  muleteer.  "If  all  be 
true  that  we  hear,  his  end  was  like  his  sin,  a  thing  to 
raise  the  hair." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  he  was  killed  ?"  1  asked. 

"Sure  enough,  he  was  killed,"  returned  the  man. 
'*  But  how  ?  Ay,  how  ?  But  these  are  things  that  it  is 
sin  to  speak  of." 

"  The  people  of  that  house  ..."  I  began. 

>95 


OLALLA 

But  he  interrupted  me  with  a  savage  outburst.  "  The 
people  ? "  he  cried.  "What  people  ?  There  are  neither 
men  nor  women  in  that  house  of  Satan's !  What  ?  have 
you  lived  here  so  long,  and  never  heard  ? "  And  here 
he  put  his  mouth  to  my  ear  and  whispered,  as  if  even 
the  fowls  of  the  mountain  might  have  overheard  and 
been  stricken  with  horror. 

What  he  told  me  was  not  true,  nor  was  it  even 
original;  being,  indeed,  but  a  new  edition,  vamped  up 
again  by  village  ignorance  and  superstition,  of  stories 
nearly  as  ancient  as  the  race  of  man.  It  was  rather 
the  application  that  appalled  me.  In  the  old  days,  he 
said,  the  church  would  have  burned  out  that  nest  of 
basilisks ;  but  the  arm  of  the  church  was  now  short- 
ened; his  friend  Miguel  had  been  unpunished  by  the 
hands  of  men,  and  left  to  the  more  awful  judgment  of 
an  offended  God.  This  was  wrong;  but  it  should  be 
so  no  more.  The  Padre  was  sunk  in  age;  he  was  even 
bewitched  himself;  but  the  eyes  of  his  flock  were  now 
awake  to  their  own  danger;  and  some  day  —  ay,  and 
before  long — the  smoke  of  that  house  should  go  up  to 
heaven. 

He  left  me  filled  with  horror  and  fear.  Which  way 
to  turn  1  knew  not;  whether  first  to  warn  the  Padre,  or 
to  carry  my  ill-news  direct  to  the  threatened  inhabitants 
of  the  residencia.  Fate  was  to  decide  for  me ;  for,  while 
I  was  still  hesitating,  I  beheld  the  veiled  figure  of  a 
woman  drawing  near  to  me  up  the  pathway.  No  veil 
could  deceive  my  penetration;  by  every  line  and  every 
movement  I  recognised  Olalla;  and  keeping  hidden 
behind  a  corner  of  the  rock,  I  suffered  her  to  gain  the 
summit.     Then  I  came  forward.     She  knew  me  and 

196 


OLALLA 

paused,  but  did  not  speak ;  I,  too,  remained  silent ;  and 
we  continued  for  some  time  to  gaze  upon  each  other 
with  a  passionate  sadness. 

"  I  thought  you  had  gone,"  she  said  at  length.  **  It 
is  all  that  you  can  do  for  me  —  to  go.  It  is  all  I  ever 
asked  of  you.  And  you  still  stay.  But  do  you  know, 
that  every  day  heaps  up  the  peril  of  death,  not  only  on 
your  head,  but  on  ours  ?  A  report  has  gone  about  the 
mountain;  it  is  thought  you  love  me,  and  the  people 
will  not  suffer  it." 

I  saw  she  was  already  informed  of  her  danger,  and  I 
rejoiced  at  it.  "Olalla,"  I  said,  *'  I  am  ready  to  go  this 
day,  this  very  hour,  but  not  alone." 

She  stepped  aside  and  knelt  down  before  the  crucifix 
to  pray,  and  1  stood  by  and  looked  now  at  her  and  now 
at  the  object  of  her  adoration,  now  at  the  living  figure 
of  the  penitent,  and  now  at  the  ghastly,  daubed  coun- 
tenance, the  painted  wounds,  and  the  projected  ribs  of 
the  image.  The  silence  was  only  broken  by  the  wailing 
of  some  large  birds  that  circled  sidelong,  as  if  in  sur- 
prise or  alarm,  about  the  summit  of  the  hills.  Presently 
Olalla  rose  again,  turned  towards  me,  raised  her  veil, 
and,  still  leaning  with  one  hand  on  the  shaft  of  the  cru- 
cifix, looked  upon  me  with  a  pale  and  sorrowful  coun- 
tenance. 

"I  have  laid  my  hand  upon  the  cross,"  she  said. 
''The  Padre  says  you  are  no  Christian;  but  look  up  for 
a  moment  with  my  eyes,  and  behold  the  face  of  the 
Man  of  Sorrows.  We  are  all  such  as  He  was  —  the  in- 
heritors of  sin ;  we  must  all  bear  and  expiate  a  past 
which  was  not  ours;  there  is  in  all  of  us  —  ay,  even  in 
me  —  a  sparkle  of  the  divine.     Like  Him,  we  must  en- 

197 


OLALLA 

dure  for  a  little  while,  until  morning  returns  bringing 
peace.  Suffer  me  to  pass  on  upon  my  way  alone;  it  is 
thus  that  I  shall  be  least  lonely,  counting  for  my  friend 
Him  who  is  the  friend  of  all  the  distressed ;  it  is  thus 
that  I  shall  be  the  most  happy,  having  taken  my  fare- 
well of  earthly  happiness,  and  willingly  accepted  sorrow 
for  my  portion." 

I  looked  at  the  face  of  the  crucifix,  and,  though  I  was 
no  friend  to  images,  and  despised  that  imitative  and 
grimacing  art  of  which  it  was  a  rude  example,  some 
sense  of  what  the  thing  implied  was  carried  home  to  my 
intelligence.  The  face  looked  down  upon  me  with  a 
painful  and  deadly  contraction ;  but  the  rays  of  a  glory 
encircled  it,  and  reminded  me  that  the  sacrifice  was  vol- 
untary. It  stood  there,  crowning  the  rock,  as  it  still 
stands  on  so  many  highway  sides,  vainly  preaching  to 
passers-by,  an  emblem  of  sad  and  noble  truths;  that 
pleasure  is  not  an  end,  but  an  accident;  that  pain  is  the 
choice  of  the  magnanimous ;  that  it  is  best  to  suffer  all 
things  and  do  well.  I  turned  and  went  down  the  moun- 
tain in  silence ;  and  when  I  looked  back  for  the  last  time 
before  the  wood  closed  about  my  path,  I  saw  Olalla  still 
leaning  on  the  crucifix. 


198 


THE  TREASURE  OF  FRANCHARD 

CHAPTER  I 

BY  THE   DYING  MOUNTEBANK 

THEY  had  sent  for  the  doctor  from  Bourron  before 
six.  About  eight  some  villagers  came  round  for 
the  performance,  and  were  told  how  matters  stood. 
It  seemed  a  liberty  for  a  mountebank  to  fall  ill  like  real 
people,  and  they  made  off  again  in  dudgeon.  By  ten 
Madame  Tentaillon  was  gravely  alarmed,  and  had  sent 
down  the  street  for  Doctor  Desprez. 

The  Doctor  was  at  work  over  his  manuscripts  in  one 
corner  of  the  little  dining-room,  and  his  wife  was  asleep 
over  the  fire  in  another,  when  the  messenger  arrived. 

"Sapristi!"  said  the  Doctor,  **you  should  have  sent 
for  me  before.  It  was  a  case  for  hurry."  And  he  fol- 
lowed the  messenger  as  he  was,  in  his  slippers  and 
skull-cap. 

The  inn  was  not  thirty  yards  away, but  the  messenger 
did  not  stop  there ;  he  went  in  at  one  door  and  out  by 
another  into  the  court,  and  then  led  the  way  by  a  flight 
of  steps  beside  the  stable,  to  the  loft  where  the  mounte- 

199 


THE  TREASURE  OF  FRANCHARD 

bank  lay  sick.  If  Doctor  Desprez  were  to  live  a  thou- 
sand years,  he  would  never  forget  his  arrival  in  that 
room ;  for  not  only  was  the  scene  picturesque,  but  the 
moment  made  a  date  in  his  existence.  We  reckon  our 
lives,  I  hardly  know  why,  from  the  date  of  our  first 
sorry  appearance  in  society,  as  if  from  a  first  humilia- 
tion ;  for  no  actor  can  come  upon  the  stage  with  a  worse 
grace.  Not  to  go  further  back,  which  would  be  judged 
too  curious,  there  are  subsequently  many  moving  and 
decisive  accidents  in  the  lives  of  all,  which  would  make 
as  logical  a  period  as  this  of  birth.  And  here,  for  in- 
stance. Doctor  Desprez,  a  man  past  forty,  who  had 
made  what  is  called  a  failure  in  life,  and  was  moreover 
married,  found  himself  at  a  new  point  of  departure 
when  he  opened  the  door  of  the  loft  above  Tentaillon's 
stable. 

It  was  a  large  place,  lighted  only  by  a  single  candle 
set  upon  the  floor.  The  mountebank  lay  on  his  back 
upon  a  pallet;  a  large  man,  with  a  Quixotic  nose  in- 
flamed with  drinking.  Madame  Tentaillon  stooped  over 
him,  applying  a  hot  water  and  mustard  embrocation  to 
his  feet;  and  on  a  chair  close  by  sat  a  little  fellow  of 
eleven  or  twelve,  with  his  feet  dangling.  These  three 
were  the  only  occupants,  except  the  shadows.  But  the 
shadows  were  a  company  in  themselves;  the  extent  of 
the  room  exaggerated  them  to  a  gigantic  size,  and  from 
the  low  position  of  the  candle  the  light  struck  upwards 
and  produced  deformed  foreshortenings.  The  mounte- 
bank's profile  was  enlarged  upon  the  wall  in  caricature, 
and  it  was  strange  to  see  his  nose  shorten  and  lengthen 
as  the  flame  was  blown  about  by  draughts.  As  for  Ma- 
dame Tentaillon,  her  shadow  was  no  more  than  a  gross 


BY   THE   DYING   MOUNTEBANK 

hump  of  shoulders,  with  now  and  again  a  hemisphere 
of  head.  The  chair  legs  were  spindled  out  as  long  as 
stilts,  and  the  boy  sat  perched  atop  of  them,  like  a 
cloud,  in  the  corner  of  the  roof 

It  was  the  boy  who  took  the  Doctor's  fancy.  He  had 
a  great  arched  skull,  the  forehead  and  the  hands  of  a 
musician,  and  a  pair  of  haunting  eyes.  It  was  not 
merely  that  these  eyes  were  large,  or  steady,  or  the 
softest  ruddy  brown.  There  was  a  look  in  them,  be- 
sides, which  thrilled  the  Doctor,  and  made  him  half 
uneasy.  He  was  sure  he  had  seen  such  a  look  before, 
and  yet  he  could  not  remember  how  or  where.  It  was 
as  if  this  boy,  who  was  quite  a  stranger  to  him,  had  the 
eyes  of  an  old  friend  or  an  old  enemy.  And  the  boy 
would  give  him  no  peace;  he  seemed  profoundly  indif- 
ferent to  what  was  going  on,  or  rather  abstracted  from 
it  in  a  superior  contemplation,  beating  gently  with  his 
feet  against  the  bars  of  the  chair,  and  holding  his  hands 
folded  on  his  lap.  But,  for  all  that,  his  eyes  kept  fol- 
lowing the  Doctor  about  the  room  with  a  thoughtful 
fixity  of  gaze.  Desprez  could  not  tell  whether  he  was 
fascinating  the  boy,  or  the  boy  was  fascinating  him. 
He  busied  himself  over  the  sick  man :  he  put  questions, 
he  felt  the  pulse,  he  jested,  he  grew  a  little  hot  and 
swore :  and  still,  whenever  he  looked  round,  there  were 
the  brown  eyes  waiting  for  his  with  the  same  inquiring, 
melancholy  gaze. 

At  last  the  Doctor  hit  on  the  solution  at  a  leap.  He 
remembered  the  look  now.  The  little  fellow,  although 
he  was  as  straight  as  a  dart,  had  the  eyes  that  go  usu- 
ally with  a  crooked  back;  he  was  not  at  all  deformed, 
and  yet  a  deformed  person  seemed  to  be  looking  at  you 

20I 


THE  TREASURE  OF  FRANCHARD 

from  below  his  brows.  The  Doctor  drew  a  long  breath, 
he  was  so  much  relieved  to  find  a  theory  (for  he  loved 
theories)  and  to  explain  away  his  interest. 

For  all  that,  he  despatched  the  invalid  with  unusual 
haste,  and,  still  kneeling  with  one  knee  on  the  floor, 
turned  a  little  round  and  looked  the  boy  over  at  his 
leisure.  The  boy  was  not  in  the  least  put  out,  but 
looked  placidly  back  at  the  Doctor. 

*'\s  this  your  father?"  asked  Desprez. 

**0h,  no,"  returned  the  boy;  **my  master." 

**  Are  you  fond  of  him  ?"  continued  the  Doctor. 

**No,  sir,"  said  the  boy. 

Madame  Tentaillon  and  Desprez  exchanged  expres- 
sive glances. 

**That  is  bad,  my  man,"  resumed  the  latter,  with  a 
shade  of  sternness.  **  Every  one  should  be  fond  of  the 
dying,  or  conceal  their  sentiments;  and  your  master 
here  is  dying.  If  I  have  watched  a  bird  a  little  while 
stealing  my  cherries,  I  have  a  thought  of  disappoint- 
ment when  he  flies  away  over  my  garden  wall,  and  I  see 
him  steer  for  the  forest  and  vanish.  How  much  more  a 
creature  such  as  this,  so  strong,  so  astute,  so  richly  en- 
dowed with  faculties!  When  1  think  that,  in  a  few 
hours,  the  speech  will  be  silenced,  the  breath  extinct, 
and  even  the  shadow  vanished  from  the  wall,  1  who 
never  saw  him,  this  lady  who  knew  him  only  as  a  guest, 
are  touched  with  some  affection." 

The  boy  was  silent  for  a  little,  and  appeared  to  be 
reflecting. 

"  You  did  not  know  him,"  he  replied  at  last.  "He 
was  a  bad  man." 

**  He  is  a  little  pagan,"  said  the  landlady.     *'  For  that 


BY   THE   DYING   MOUNTEBANK 

matter,  they  are  all  the  same,  these  mountebanks,  tum- 
blers, artists,  and  what  not.     They  have  no  interior.'* 

But  the  Doctor  was  still  scrutinising  the  little  pagan, 
his  eyebrows  knotted  and  uplifted. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Jean-Marie,"  said  the  lad. 

Desprez  leaped  upon  him  with  one  of  his  sudden 
flashes  of  excitement,  and  felt  his  head  all  over  from  an 
ethnological  point  of  view. 

''Celtic,  Celtic!  "  he  said. 

''Celtic!"  cried  Madame  Tentaillon,  who  had  per- 
haps confounded  the  word  with  hydrocephalous.  ' '  Poor 
lad !  is  it  dangerous  ?  " 

"That  deperKJs,"  returned  the  Doctor,  grimly.  And 
then  once  more  addressing  the  boy:  "And  what  do 
you  do  for  your  living,  Jean-Marie  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"I  tumble,"  was  the  answer. 

"So!  Tumble?"  repeated  Desprez.  "Probably 
healthful.  I  hazard  the  guess,  Madame  Tentaillon,  that 
tumbling  is  a  healthful  way  of  life.  And  have  you 
never  done  anything  else  but  tumble?" 

"Before  I  learned  that,  I  used  to  steal,"  answered 
Jean-Marie  gravely. 

"Upon  my  word!"  cried  the  Doctor.  "You  are  a 
nice  little  man  for  your  age.  Madame,  when  my  con- 
frere comes  from  Bourron,  you  will  communicate  my 
unfavourable  opinion.  I  leave  the  case  in  his  hands; 
but  of  course,  on  any  alarming  symptom,  above  all  if 
there  should  be  a  sign  of  rally,  do  not  hesitate  to  knock 
me  up.  I  am  a  doctor  no  longer,  I  thank  God ;  but  I 
have  been  one.  Good  night,  madame.  Good  sleep  to 
you,  Jean-Marie." 

305 


CHAPTER  Jl 

MORNING  TALK 

Doctor  Desprez  always  rose  early.  Before  the  smoke 
arose,  before  the  first  cart  rattled  over  the  bridge  to  the 
day's  labour  in  the  fields,  he  was  to  be  found  wander- 
ing in  his  garden.  Now  he  would  pick  a  bunch  of 
grapes ;  now  he  would  eat  a  big  pear  under  the  trellis ; 
now  he  would  draw  all  sorts  of  fancies  on  the  path 
with  the  end  of  his  cane;  now  he  would  go  down  and 
watch  the  river  running  endlessly  past  the  timber  land- 
ing-place at  which  he  moored  his  boat.  There  was  no 
time,  he  used  to  say,  for  making  theories  like  the  early 
morning.  *M  rise  earlier  than  any  one  else  in  the  vil- 
lage," he  once  boasted.  "  It  is  a  fair  consequence  that 
I  know  more  and  wish  to  do  less  with  my  knowledge." 

The  Doctor  was  a  connoisseur  of  sunrises,  and  loved 
a  good  theatrical  effect  to  usher  in  the  day.  He  had  a 
theory  of  dew,  by  which  he  could  predict  the  weather. 
Indeed,  most  things  served  him  to  that  end:  the  sound 
of  the  bells  from  all  the  neighbouring  villages,  the  smell 
of  the  forest,  the  visits  and  the  behaviour  of  both  birds 
and  fishes,  the  look  of  the  plants  in  his  garden,  the  dis- 
position of  cloud,  the  colour  of  the  light,  and  last,  al- 
though not  least,  the  arsenal  of  meteorological  instru- 
ments in  a  louvre-boarded  hutch  upon  the  lawn.  Ever 
since  he  had  settled  at  Gretz,  he  had  been  growing  more 

204 


MORNING  TALK 

and  more  into  the  local  meteorologist,  the  unpaid  cham- 
pion of  the  local  climate.  He  thought  at  first  there  was 
no  place  so  healthful  in  the  arrondissement.  By  the  end 
of  the  second  year,  he  protested  there  was  none  so  whole- 
some in  the  whole  department.  And  for  some  time  be- 
fore he  met  Jean-Marie,  he  had  been  prepared  to  chal- 
lenge all  France  and  the  better  part  of  Europe  for  a  rival 
to  his  chosen  spot. 

"Doctor,"  he  would  say — ''doctor  is  a  foul  word. 
It  should  not  be  used  to  ladies.  It  implies  disease.  I 
remark  it,  as  a  flaw  in  our  civilisation,  that  we  have  not 
the  proper  horror  of  disease.  Now  I,  for  my  part,  have 
washed  my  hands  of  it;  I  have  renounced  my  laureation ; 
I  am  no  doctor;  I  am  only  a  worshipper  of  the  true  god- 
dess Hygieia.  Ah,  believe  me,  it  is  she  who  has  the 
cestus!  And  here,  in  this  exiguous  hamlet,  has  she 
placed  her  shrine :  here  she  dwells  and  lavishes  her  gifts ; 
here  I  walk  with  her  in  the  early  morning,  and  she 
shows  me  how  strong  she  has  made  the  peasants,  how 
fruitful  she  has  made  the  fields,  how  the  trees  grow  up 
tall  and  comely  under  her  eyes,  and  the  fishes  in  the 
river  become  clean  and  agile  at  her  presence. —  Rheu- 
matism ! "  he  would  cry,  on  some  malapert  interruption, 
"O,  yes,  I  believe  we  do  have  a  little  rheumatism. 
That  could  hardly  be  avoided,  you  know,  on  a  river. 
And  of  course  the  place  stands  a  little  low;  and  the 
meadows  are  marshy,  there's  no  doubt.  But,  my  dear 
sir,  look  at  Bourron !  Bourron  stands  high.  Bourron  is 
close  to  the  forest;  plenty  of  ozone  there,  you  would 
say.  Well,  compared  with  Gretz,  Bourron  is  a  perfect 
shambles." 

The  morning  after  he  had  been  summoned  to  the 

20S 


1*1*  i^ii  «ifc.ifc  J 


THE  TREASURE   OF   FRANCHARD 

dying  mountebank,  the  Doctor  visited  the  wharf  at  the 
tail  of  his  garden,  and  had  a  long  look  at  the  running 
water.  This  he  called  prayer;  but  whether  his  adora- 
tions were  addressed  to  the  goddess  Hygieia  or  some 
more  orthodox  deity,  never  plainly  appeared.  For  he 
had  uttered  doubtful  oracles,  sometimes  declaring  that 
a  river  was  the  type  of  bodily  health,  sometimes  extol- 
ling it  as  the  great  moral  preacher,  continually  preach- 
ing peace,  continuity,  and  diligence  to  man's  tormented 
spirits.  After  he  had  watched  a  mile  or  so  of  the  clear 
water  running  by  before  his  eyes,  seen  a  fish  or  two 
come  to  the  surface  with  a  gleam  of  silver,  and  suffi- 
ciently admired  the  long  shadows  of  the  trees  falling 
half  across  the  river  from  the  opposite  bank,  with 
patches  of  moving  sunlight  in  between,  he  strolled  once 
more  up  the  garden  and  through  his  house  into  the 
street,  feeling  cool  and  renovated. 

The  sound  of  his  feet  upon  the  causeway  began  the 
business  of  the  day;  for  the  village  was  still  sound 
asleep.  The  church  tower  looked  very  airy  in  the  sun- 
light ;  a  few  birds  that  turned  about  it,  seemed  to  swim 
in  an  atmosphere  of  more  than  usual  rarity;  and  the 
Doctor,  walking  in  long  transparent  shadows,  filled  his 
lungs  amply,  and  proclaimed  himself  well  contented 
with  the  morning. 

On  one  of  the  posts  before  Tentaillon's  carriage  entry 
he  espied  a  little  dark  figure  perched  in  a  meditative  at- 
titude, and  immediately  recognised  Jean-Marie. 

"Aha!"  he  said,  stopping  before  him  humorously, 
with  a  hand  on  either  knee.  "So  we  rise  early  in  the 
morning,  do  we  ?  It  appears  to  me  that  we  have  all  the 
vices  of  a  philosopher." 

206 


MORNING   TALK 

The  boy  got  to  his  feet  and  made  a  grave  salutation. 

"And  how  is  our  patient?"  asked  Desprez. 

It  appeared  the  patient  was  about  the  same. 

"And  why  do  you  rise  early  in  the  morning?"  he 
pursued. 

Jean-Marie,  after  a  long  silence,  professed  that  he 
hardly  knew. 

"You  hardly  know?"  repeated  Desprez.  "We 
hardly  know  anything,  my  man,  until  we  try  to  learn. 
Interrogate  your  consciousness.  Come,  push  me  this 
inquiry  home.     Do  you  like  it  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  boy  slowly;  "yes,  I  like  it." 

"And  why  do  you  like  it?"  continued  the  Doctor. 
"  (We  are  now  pursuing  the  Socratic  method.)  Why 
do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"It  is  quiet,"  answered  Jean-Marie;  "and  I  have 
nothing  to  do;  and  then  I  feel  as  if  I  were  good." 

Doctor  Desprez  took  a  seat  on  the  post  at  the  opposite 
side.  He  was  beginning  to  take  an  interest  in  the  talk, 
for  the  boy  plainly  thought  before  he  spoke,  and  tried  to 
answer  truly.  "  It  appears  you  have  a  taste  for  feeling 
good,"  said  the  Doctor.  "Now,  there  you  puzzle  me 
extremely ;  for  I  thought  you  said  you  were  a  thief;  and 
the  two  are  incompatible." 

"Is  it  very  bad  to  steal  ?  "  asked  Jean-Marie. 

"Such  is  the  general  opinion,  little  boy,"  replied  the 
Doctor. 

"No;  but  I  mean  as  I  stole,"  exclaimed  the  other. 
"  For  I  had  no  choice.  1  think  it  is  surely  right  to  have 
bread ;  it  must  be  right  to  have  bread,  there  comes  so 
plain  a  want  of  it.  And  then  they  beat  me  cruelly  if  I 
returned  with  nothing,"  he  added.     "I  was  not  igno- 

207 


THE  TREASURE   OF   FRANCHARD 

rant  of  right  and  wrong ;  for  before  that  I  had  been  well 
taught  by  a  priest,  who  was  very  kind  to  me."  (The 
Doctor  made  a  horrible  grimace  at  the  word  *'  priest.") 
''But  it  seemed  to  me,  when  one  had  nothing  to  eat  and 
was  beaten,  it  was  a  different  affair.  I  would  not  have 
stolen  for  tartlets,  I  believe ;  but  any  one  would  steal  for 
baker's  bread. " 

''And  so  I  suppose,"  said  the  Doctor,  with  a  rising 
sneer,  "you  prayed  God  to  forgive  you,  and  explained 
the  case  to  Him  at  length." 

"Why,  sir  ?  "  asked  Jean-Marie.     "  I  do  not  see." 

"Your  priest  would  see,  however,"  retorted  Desprez. 

"Would  he?"  asked  the  boy,  troubled  for  the  first 
time.  "  I  should  have  thought  God  would  have 
known." 

"  Eh  .?  "  snaried  the  Doctor. 

"  I  should  have  thought  God  would  have  understood 
me,"  replied  the  other.  "  You  do  not,  I  see;  but  then 
it  was  God  that  made  me  think  so,  was  it  not  ?  " 

"  Little  boy,  little  boy, "said  Doctor  Desprez,  "I  told 
you  already  you  had  the  vices  of  philosophy ;  if  you 
display  the  virtues  also,  I  must  go.  I  am  a  student  of 
the  blessed  laws  of  health,  an  observer  of  plain  and 
temperate  nature  in  her  common  walks ;  and  I  cannot 
preserve  my  equanimity  in  presence  of  a  monster.  Do 
you  understand  ?  " 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  boy. 

"  I  will  make  my  meaning  clear  to  you,"  replied  the 
Doctor.  "Look  there  at  the  sky  —  behind  the  belfry 
first,  where  it  is  so  light,  and  then  up  and  up,  turning 
your  chin  back,  right  to  the  top  of  the  dome,  where  it 
is  already  as  blue  as  at  noon.     Is  not  that  a  beautiful 

208 


MORNING   TALK 

colour  ?  Does  it  not  please  the  heart  ?  We  have  seen 
it  all  our  lives,  until  it  has  grown  in  with  our  familiar 
thoughts.  Now, "  changing  his  tone,  * '  suppose  that  sky 
to  become  suddenly  of  a  live  and  fiery  amber,  like  the 
colour  of  clear  coals,  and  growing  scarlet  towards  the 
top  —  I  do  not  say  it  would  be  any  the  less  beautiful ; 
but  would  you  like  it  as  well?" 

'*!  suppose  not,"  answered  Jean-Marie. 

**  Neither  do  I  like  you,"  returned  the  Doctor,  roughly. 
*'l  hate  all  odd  people,  and  you  are  the  most  curious 
little  boy  in  all  the  world." 

Jean-Marie  seemed  to  ponder  for  a  while,  and  then  he 
raised  his  head  again  and  looked  over  at  the  Doctor  with 
an  air  of  candid  inquiry.  "  But  are  not  you  a  very  curi- 
ous gentleman  .>"  he  asked. 

The  Doctor  threw  away  his  stick,  bounded  on  the 
boy,  clasped  him  to  his  bosom,  and  kissed  him  on 
both  cheeks.  *' Admirable,  admirable  imp!"  he  cried. 
**  What  a  morning,  what  an  hour  for  a  theorist  of  forty- 
two!  No,"  he  continued,  apostrophising  heaven,  "I 
did  not  know  that  such  boys  existed ;  I  was  ignorant 
they  made  them  so;  1  had  doubted  of  my  race;  and 
now!  It  is  like,"  he  added,  picking  up  his  stick,  *Mike 
a  lovers'  meeting.  1  have  bruised  my  favourite  staff  in 
that  moment  of  enthusiasm.  The  injury,  however,  is 
not  grave."  He  caught  the  boy  looking  at  him  in  ob- 
vious wonder,  embarrassment,  and  alarm.  ** Hullo!" 
said  he,  **  why  do  you  look  at  me  like  that?  Egad,  I 
believe  the  boy  despises  me.  Do  you  despise  me, 
boy?" 

"O,  no,"  replied  Jean-Marie,  seriously;  '*only  I  do 
not  understand." 

209 


THE  TREASURE   OF   FRANCHARD 

"'You  must  excuse  me,  sir,"  returned  the  Doctor, 
with  gravity;  *'I  am  still  so  young.  O,  hang  him!" 
he  added  to  himself.  And  he  took  his  seat  again  and 
observed  the  boy  sardonically.  ''He  has  spoiled  the 
quiet  of  my  morning, "  thought  he.  "I  shall  be  nervous 
all  day,  and  have  a  febricule  when  I  digest.  Let  me 
compose  myself. "  And  so  he  dismissed  his  pre-occupa- 
tions  by  an  effort  of  the  will  which  he  had  long  practised, 
and  let  his  soul  roam  abroad  in  the  contemplation  of  the 
morning.  He  inhaled  the  air,  tasting  it  critically  as  a 
connoisseur  tastes  a  vintage,  and  prolonging  the  expira- 
tion with  hygienic  gusto.  He  counted  the  little  flecks 
of  cloud  along  the  sky.  He  followed  the  movements  of 
the  birds  round  the  church  tower —  making  long  sweeps, 
hanging  poised,  or  turning  airy  somersaults  in  fancy, 
and  beating  the  wind  with  imaginary  pinions.  And  in 
this  way  he  regained  peace  of  mind  and  animal  compos- 
ure, conscious  of  his  limbs,  conscious  of  the  sight  of  his 
eyes,  conscious  that  the  air  had  a  cool  taste,  like  a  fruit, 
at  the  top  of  his  throat;  and  at  last,  in  complete  ab- 
straction, he  began  to  sing.  The  Doctor  had  but  one 
air — "Malbrouck  s'en  va-t-en  guerre;  "  even  with  that 
he  was  on  terms  of  mere  politeness ;  and  his  musical  ex- 
ploits were  always  reserved  for  moments  when  he  was 
alone  and  entirely  happy. 

He  was  recalled  to  earth  rudely  by  a  pained  expres- 
sion on  the  boy's  face.  "What  do  you  think  of  my 
singing?"  he  inquired,  stopping  in  the  middle  of  a 
note;  and  then,  after  he  had  waited  some  little  while 
and  received  no  answer,  "What  do  you  think  of  my 
singing?"  he  repeated,  imperiously. 

**I  do  not  like  it,"  faltered  Jean-Marie. 


MORNING  TALK 

"Oh,  come!*'  cried  the  Doctor.  "  Possibly  you  are 
a  performer  yourself?  " 

"I  sing  better  than  that,"  replied  the  boy. 

The  Doctor  eyed  him  for  some  seconds  in  stupefaction. 
He  was  aware  that  he  was  angry,  and  blushed  for  him- 
self in  consequence,  which  made  him  angrier.  **  If  this 
is  how  you  address  your  master!  "  he  said  at  last,  with 
a  shrug  and  a  flourish  of  his  arms. 

'M  do  not  speak  to  him  at  all,"  returned  the  boy.  "I 
do  not  like  him." 

"Then  you  like  me ? "  snapped  Doctor  Desprez,  with 
unusual  eagerness. 

"I  do  not  know,"  answered  Jean-Marie. 

The  Doctor  rose.  '  *  I  shall  wish  you  a  good  morning, " 
he  said.  '  *  You  are  too  much  for  me.  Perhaps  you  have 
blood  in  your  veins,  perhaps  celestial  ichor,  or  perhaps 
you  circulate  nothing  more  gross  than  respirable  air;  but 
of  one  thing  I  am  inexpugnably  assured:  —  that  you  are 
no  human  being.  No,  boy,"  — shaking  his  stick  at 
him  —  "you  are  not  a  human  being.  Write,  write  it 
in  your  memory  —  'I  am  not  a  human  being  —  I  have 
no  pretension  to  be  a  human  being  —  I  am  a  dive,  a 
dream,  an  angel,  an  acrostic,  an  illusion  —  what  you 
please,  but  not  a  human  being.'  And  so  accept  my 
humble  salutations  and  farewell !  " 

And  with  that  the  Doctor  made  off  along  the  street 
in  some  emotion,  and  the  boy  stood,  mentally  gaping, 
where  he  left  him. 


311 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  ADOPTION 

Madame  Desprez,  who  answered  to  the  Christian 
name  of  Anastasie,  presented  an  agreeable  type  of  her 
sex;  exceedingly  wholesome  to  look  upon,  a  stout 
brum,  with  cool  smooth  cheeks,  steady,  dark  eyes,  and 
hands  that  neither  art  nor  nature  could  improve.  She 
was  the  sort  of  person  over  whom  adversity  passes  like 
a  summer  cloud ;  she  might,  in  the  worst  of  conjunc- 
tions, knit  her  brows  into  one  vertical  furrow  for  a  mo- 
ment, but  the  next  it  would  be  gone.  She  had  much 
of  the  placidity  of  a  contented  nun ;  with  little  of  her 
piety,  however ;  for  Anastasie  was  of  a  very  mundane 
nature,  fond  of  oysters  and  old  wine,  and  somewhat 
bold  pleasantries,  and  devoted  to  her  husband  for  her 
own  sake  rather  than  for  his.  She  was  imperturbably 
good-natured,  but  had  no  idea  of  self-sacrifice.  To  live 
in  that  pleasant  old  house,  with  a  green  garden  behind 
and  bright  flowers  about  the  window,  to  eat  and  drink 
of  the  best,  to  gossip  with  a  neighbour  for  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  never  to  wear  stays  or  a  dress  except  when 
she  went  to  Fontainebleau  shopping,  to  be  kept  in  a 
continual  supply  of  racy  novels,  and  to  be  married  to 
Doctor  Desprez  and  have  no  ground  of  jealousy,  filled 


THE   ADOPTION 

the  cup  of  her  nature  to  the  brim.  Those  who  had 
known  the  Doctor  in  bachelor  days,  when  he  had  aired 
quite  as  many  theories,  but  of  a  different  order,  attrib- 
uted his  present  philosophy  to  the  study  of  Anastasie. 
It  was  her  brute  enjoyment  that  he  rationalised  and  per- 
haps vainly  imitated. 

Madame  Desprez  was  an  artist  in  the  kitchen,  and 
made  coffee  to  a  nicety.  She  had  a  knack  of  tidiness, 
with  which  she  had  infected  the  doctor;  everything 
was  in  its  place;  everything  capable  of  polish  shone 
gloriously;  and  dust  was  a  thing  banished  from  her 
empire.  Aline,  their  single  servant,  had  no  other  busi- 
ness in  the  world  but  to  scour  and  burnish.  So  Doctor 
Desprez  lived  in  his  house  like  a  fatted  calf,  warmed 
and  cosseted  to  his  heart's  content. 

The  midday  meal  was  excellent.  There  was  a  ripe 
melon,  a  fish  from  the  river  in  a  memorable  Bearnaise 
sauce,  a  fat  fowl  in  a  fricassee,  and  a  dish  of  asparagus, 
followed  by  some  fruit.  The  Doctor  drank  half  a  bot- 
tle plus  one  glass,  the  wife  half  a  bottle  minus  the  same 
quantity,  which  was  a  marital  privilege,  of  an  excel- 
lent Cote-Rotie,  seven  years  old.  Then  the  coffee  was 
brought,  and  a  flask  of  Chartreuse  for  madame,  for  the 
Doctor  despised  and  distrusted  such  decoctions;  and 
then  Aline  left  the  wedded  pair  to  the  pleasures  of 
memory  and  digestion. 

"It  is  a  very  fortunate  circumstance,  my  cherished 
one,"  observed  the  Doctor —  "this  coffee  is  adorable  — 
a  very  fortunate  circumstance  upon  the  whole  —  Anas- 
tasie, 1  beseech  you,  go  without  that  poison  for  to-day ; 
only  one  day,  and  you  will  feel  the  benefit,  I  pledge  my 
reputation." 

213 


THE  TREASURE  OF   FRANCHARD 

"What  is  this  fortunate  circumstance,  my  friend?" 
inquired  Anastasie,  not  heeding  his  protest,  which  was 
of  daily  recurrence. 

"That  we  have  no  children,  my  beautiful,"  replied 
the  Doctor.  "  I  think  of  it  more  and  more  as  the  years 
go  on,  and  with  more  and  more  gratitude  towards  the 
Power  that  dispenses  such  afflictions.  Your  health,  my 
darling,  my  studious  quiet,  our  little  kitchen  delicacies, 
how  they  would  all  have  suffered,  how  they  would  all 
have  been  sacrificed !  And  for  what  ?  Children  are  the 
last  word  of  human  imperfection.  Health  flees  before 
their  face.  They  cry,  my  dear;  they  put  vexatious 
questions ;  they  demand  to  be  fed,  to  be  washed,  to  be 
educated,  to  have  their  noses  blown;  and  then,  when 
the  time  comes,  they  break  our  hearts,  as  I  break  this 
piece  of  sugar.  A  pair  of  professed  egoists,  like  you 
and  me,  should  avoid  offspring,  like  an  infidelity." 

"Indeed!  "  said  she;  and  she  laughed.  "Now,  that 
is  like  you  —  to  take  credit  for  the  thing  you  could  not 
help." 

"My  dear,"  returned  the  Doctor,  solemnly,  "we 
might  have  adopted." 

"Never!"  cried  madame.  "Never,  Doctor,  with 
my  consent.  If  the  child  were  my  own  flesh  and  blood, 
1  would  not  say  no.  But  to  take  another  person's  in- 
discretion on  my  shoulders,  my  dear  friend,  I  have  too 
much  sense." 

"Precisely,"  replied  the  Doctor.  "We  both  had. 
And  I  am  all  the  better  pleased  with  our  wisdom,  be- 
cause —  because "     He  looked  at  her  sharply. 

"Because  what?"  she  asked,  with  a  faint  premoni- 
tion of  danger. 

214 


THE  ADOPTION 

''Because  I  have  found  the  right  person,"  said  the 
Doctor  firmly,  "and  shall  adopt  him  this  afternoon." 

Anastasie  looked  at  him  out  of  a  mist.  "You  have 
lost  your  reason,"  she  said;  and  there  was  a  clang  in 
her  voice  that  seemed  to  threaten  trouble. 

"Not  so,  my  dear,"  he  replied;  "!  retain  its  com- 
plete exercise.  To  the  proof:  instead  of  attempting  to 
cloak  my  inconsistency,  I  have,  by  way  of  preparing 
you,  thrown  it  into  strong  relief  You  will  there,  I 
think,  recognise  the  philosopher  who  has  the  ecstasy 
to  call  you  wife.  The  fact  is,  I  have  been  reckoning 
all  this  while  without  an  accident.  1  never  thought  to 
find  a  son  of  my  own.  Now,  last  night,  1  found  one. 
Do  not  unnecessarily  alarm  yourself,  my  dear;  he  is  not 
a  drop  of  blood  to  me  that  I  know.  It  is  his  mind,  dar- 
ling, his  mind  that  calls  me  father." 

"His  mind!"  she  repeated  with  a  titter  between 
scorn  and  hysterics.  "His  mind,  indeed!  Henri,  is 
this  an  idiotic  pleasantry,  or  are  you  mad  ?  His  mind ! 
And  what  of  my  mind  ?  " 

"Truly,"  replied  the  Doctor  with  a  shrug,  "you 
have  your  finger  on  the  hitch.  He  will  be  strikingly 
antipathetic  to  my  beautiful  Anastasie.  She  will  never 
understand  him ;  he  will  never  understand  her.  You 
married  the  animal  side  of  my  nature,  dear;  and  it  is 
on  the  spiritual  side  that  I  find  my  affmity  for  Jean- 
Marie.  So  much  so,  that,  to  be  perfectly  frank,  I  stand 
in  some  awe  of  him  myself  You  will  easily  perceive 
that  1  am  announcing  a  calamity  for  you.  Do  not,"  he 
broke  out  in  tones  of  real  solicitude — "do  not  give 
way  to  tears  after  a  meal,  Anastasie.  You  will  certainly 
give  yourself  a  false  digestion." 

215 


THE  TREASURE  OF   FRANCHARD 

Anastasie  controlled  herself.  "  You  know  how  will- 
ing I  am  to  humour  you,"  she  said,  "in  all  reasonable 
matters.     But  on  this  point " 

**My  dear  love,"  interrupted  the  Doctor,  eager  to 
prevent  a  refusal,  **  who  wished  to  leave  Paris  ?  Who 
made  me  give  up  cards,  and  the  opera,  and  the  boule- 
vard, and  my  social  relations,  and  all  that  was  my  life 
before  I  knew  you  ?  Have  I  been  faithful  ?  Have  I  been 
obedient  ?  Have  I  not  borne  my  doom  with  cheerful- 
ness ?  In  all  honesty,  Anastasie,  have  I  not  a  right  to 
a  stipulation  on  my  side  ?  I  have,  and  you  know  it. 
I  stipulate  my  son." 

Anastasie  was  aware  of  defeat ;  she  struck  her  colours 
instantly.     ''  You  will  break  my  heart,"  she  sighed. 

''Not  in  the  least,"  said  he.  *'  You  will  feel  a  trifling 
inconvenience  for  a  month,  just  as  I  did  when  I  was  first 
brought  to  this  vile  hamlet;  then  your  admirable  sense 
and  temper  will  prevail,  and  I  see  you  already  as  content 
as  ever,  and  making  your  husband  the  happiest  of  men." 

"You  know  I  can  refuse  you  nothing,"  she  said, 
with  a  last  flicker  of  resistance;  "nothing  that  will 
make  you  truly  happier.  But  will  this  ?  Are  you  sure, 
my  husband.?  Last  night,  you  say,  you  found  him! 
He  may  be  the  worst  of  humbugs." 

"  I  think  not,"  replied  the  Doctor.  "  But  do  not  sup- 
pose me  so  unwary  as  to  adopt  him  out  of  hand.  I  am, 
I  flatter  myself,  a  finished  man  of  the  world ;  I  have  had 
all  possibilities  in  view;  my  plan  is  contrived  to  meet 
them  all.  I  take  the  lad  as  stable-boy.  If  he  pilfer,  if 
he  grumble,  if  he  desire  to  change,  I  shall  see  I  was  mis- 
taken ;  1  shall  recognise  him  for  no  son  of  mine,  and 
send  him  tramping." 

216 


THE   ADOPTION 

'*  You  will  never  do  so  when  the  time  comes,"  said 
his  wife;  "  I  know  your  good  heart." 

She  reached  out  her  hand  to  him,  with  a  sigh;  the 
Doctor  smiled  as  he  took  it  and  carried  it  to  his  lips; 
he  had  gained  his  point  with  greater  ease  than  he  had 
dared  to  hope ;  for  perhaps  the  twentieth  time  he  had 
proved  the  efficacy  of  his  trusty  argument,  his  Excali- 
bur,  the  hint  of  a  return  to  Paris.  Six  months  in  the 
capital,  for  a  man  of  the  Doctor's  antecedents  and  re- 
lations, implied  no  less  a  calamity  than  total  ruin. 
Anastasie  had  saved  the  remainder  of  his  fortune  by 
keeping  him  strictly  in  the  country.  The  very  name 
of  Paris  put  her  in  a  blue  fear;  and  she  would  have  al- 
lowed her  husband  to  keep  a  menagerie  in  the  back 
garden,  let  alone  adopting  a  stable-boy,  rather  than  per- 
mit the  question  of  return  to  be  discussed. 

About  four  of  the  afternoon,  the  mountebank  ren- 
dered up  his  ghost;  he  had  never  been  conscious  since 
his  seizure.  Doctor  Desprez  was  present  at  his  last 
passage,  and  declared  the  farce  over.  Then  he  took 
Jean-Marie  by  the  shoulder  and  led  him  out  into  the 
inn  garden  where  there  was  a  convenient  bench  beside 
the  river.  Here  he  sat  him  down  and  made  the  boy 
place  himself  on  his  left. 

"Jean-Marie,"  he  said  very  gravely,  **this  world  is 
exceedingly  vast;  and  even  France,  which  is  only  a 
small  corner  of  it,  is  a  great  place  for  a  little  lad  like 
you.  Unfortunately  it  is  full  of  eager,  shouldering  peo- 
ple moving  on ;  and  there  are  very  few  bakers'  shops 
for  so  many  eaters.  Your  master  is  dead ;  you  are  not  fit 
to  gain  a  living  by  yourself;  you  do  not  wish  to  steal  ? 
No.     Your  situation  then  is  undesirable;  it  is,  for  the 

217 


THE  TREASURE  OF   FRANCHARD 

moment,  critical.  On  the  other  hand,  you  behold  in 
me  a  man  not  old,  though  elderly,  still  enjoying  the 
youth  of  the  heart  and  the  intelligence;  a  man  of  in- 
struction ;  easily  situated  in  this  world's  affairs ;  keep- 
ing a  good  table:  —  a  man,  neither  as  friend  nor  host,  to 
be  despised.  I  offer  you  your  food  and  clothes,  and  to 
teach  you  lessons  in  the  evening,  which  will  be  infinitely 
more  to  the  purpose  for  a  lad  of  your  stamp  than  those 
of  all  the  priests  in  Europe.  1  propose  no  wages,  but  if 
ever  you  take  a  thought  to  leave  me,  the  door  shall  be 
open,  and  I  will  give  you  a  hundred  francs  to  start  the 
world  upon.  In  return,  I  have  an  old  horse  and  chaise, 
which  you  would  very  speedily  learn  to  clean  and  keep 
in  order.  Do  not  hurry  yourself  to  answer,  and  take  it 
or  leave  it  as  you  judge  aright.  Only  remember  this, 
that  I  am  no  sentimentalist  or  charitable  person,  but  a 
man  who  lives  rigorously  to  himself;  and  that  if  I  make 
the  proposal,  it  is  for  my  own  ends — it  is  because  I  per- 
ceive clearly  an  advantage  to  myself.  And  now,  re- 
flect." 

"I  shall  be  very  glad.  I  do  not  see  what  else  I  can 
do.  I  thank  you,  sir,  most  kindly,  and  I  will  try  to  be 
useful,"  said  the  boy. 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  Doctor  warmly,  rising  at  the 
same  time  and  wiping  his  brow,  for  he  had  suffered  ago- 
nies while  the  thing  hung  in  the  wind.  A  refusal,  after 
the  scene  at  noon,  would  have  placed  him  in  a  ridiculous 
light  before  Anastasie.  *'How  hot  and  heavy  is  the 
evening,  to  be  sure!  I  have  always  had  a  fancy  to 
be  a  fish  in  summer,  Jean-Marie,  here  in  the  Loing  be- 
side Gretz.  I  should  lie  under  a  water-lily  and  listen 
to  the  bells,  which  must  sound  most  delicately  down 

218 


THE  ADOPTION 

below.  That  would  be  a  life  —  do  you  not  think  so 
too?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jean-Marie. 

"Thank  God  you  have  imagination! "  cried  the  Doc- 
tor, embracing  the  boy  with  his  usual  effusive  warmth, 
though  it  was  a  proceeding  that  seemed  to  disconcert 
the  sufferer  almost  as  much  as  if  he  had  been  an  Eng- 
lish schoolboy  of  the  same  age.  ' '  And  now, "  he  added, 
"  I  will  take  you  to  my  wife." 

Madame  Desprez  sat  in  the  dining-room  in  a  cool 
wrapper.  All  the  blinds  were  down,  and  the  tile  floor 
had  been  recently  sprinkled  with  water;  her  eyes  were 
half  shut,  but  she  affected  to  be  reading  a  novel  as  they 
entered.  Though  she  was  a  bustling  woman,  she  en- 
joyed repose  between  whiles  and  had  a  remarkable 
appetite  for  sleep. 

The  Doctor  went  through  a  solemn  form  of  intro- 
duction, adding,  for  the  benefit  of  both  parties,  "You 
must  try  to  like  each  other  for  my  sake. " 

"  He  is  very  pretty,"  said  Anastasie.  "  Will  you  kiss 
me,  my  pretty  little  fellow  ?  " 

The  Doctor  was  furious,  and  dragged  her  into  the 
passage.  "Are  you  a  fool,  Anastasie  ?"  he  said.  "What 
is  all  this  I  hear  about  the  tact  of  women  ?  Heaven 
knows,  I  have  not  met  with  it  in  my  experience.  You 
address  my  little  philosopher  as  if  he  were  an  infant. 
He  must  be  spoken  to  with  more  respect,  I  tell  you ;  he 
must  not  be  kissed  and  Georgy-porgy'd  like  an  ordinary 
child." 

"I  only  did  it  to  please  you,  I  am  sure,"  replied 
Anastasie;  "but  1  will  try  to  do  better." 

The  Doctor  apologised  for  his  warmth.  "But  I  do 
219 


THE  TREASURE   OF   FRANCHARD 

wish  him,"  he  continued,  *'to  feel  at  home  among  us. 
And  really  your  conduct  was  so  idiotic,  my  cherished 
one,  and  so  utterly  and  distantly  out  of  place,  that  a 
saint  might  have  been  pardoned  a  little  vehemence  in 
disapproval.  Do,  do  try  —  if  it  is  possible  for  a  woman 
to  understand  young  people  —  but  of  course  it  is  not, 
and  I  waste  my  breath.  Hold  your  tongue  as  much  as 
possible  at  least,  and  observe  my  conduct  narrowly ;  it 
will  serve  you  for  a  model." 

Anastasie  did  as  she  was  bidden,  and  considered  the 
Doctor's  behaviour.  She  observed  that  he  embraced  the 
boy  three  times  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  and  man- 
aged generally  to  confound  and  abash  the  little  fellow 
out  of  speech  and  appetite.  But  she  had  the  true  wo- 
manly heroism  in  little  affairs.  Not  only  did  she  refrain 
from  the  cheap  revenge  of  exposing  the  Doctor's  errors 
to  himself,  but  she  did  her  best  to  remove  their  ill-effect 
on  Jean-Marie.  When  Desprez  went  out  for  his  last 
breath  of  air  before  retiring  for  the  night,  she  came 
over  to  the  boy's  side  and  took  his  hand. 

'*You  must  not  be  surprised  nor  frightened  by  my 
husband's  manners,"  she  said.  "He  is  the  kindest  of 
men,  but  so  clever  that  he  is  sometimes  difficult  to  un- 
derstand. You  will  soon  grow  used  to  him,  and  then 
you  will  love  him,  for  that  nobody  can  help.  As  for 
me,  you  may  be  sure,  I  shall  try  to  make  you  happy, 
and  will  not  bother  you  at  all.  I  think  we  should  be 
excellent  friends,  you  and  1.  I  am  not  clever,  but  I  am 
very  good-natured.     Will  you  give  me  a  kiss  ?  " 

He  held  up  his  face,  and  she  took  him  in  her  arms 
and  then  began  to  cry.  The  woman  had  spoken  in 
complaisance;  but  she  had  warmed  to  her  own  words, 


THE   ADOPTION 

and  tenderness  followed.  The  Doctor,  entering,  found 
them  enlaced:  he  concluded  that  his  wife  was  in  fault; 
and  he  was  just  beginning,  in  an  awful  voice,  '*  Anas- 

tasie ,"  when  she  looked  up  at  him,  smiling,  with 

an  upraised  finger;  and  he  held  his  peace,  wondering, 
while  she  led  the  boy  to  his  attic. 


221 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   EDUCATION   OF   A   PHILOSOPHER 

The  installation  of  the  adopted  stable-boy  was  thus 
happily  effected,  and  the  wheels  of  life  continued  to  run 
smoothly  in  the  Doctor's  house.  Jean-Marie  did  his 
horse  and  carriage  duty  in  the  morning;  sometimes 
helped  in  the  housework;  sometimes  walked  abroad 
with  the  Doctor,  to  drink  wisdom  from  the  fountain- 
head  ;  and  was  introduced  at  night  to  the  sciences  and 
the  dead  tongues.  He  retained  his  singular  placidity  of 
mind  and  manner;  he  was  rarely  in  fault;  but  he  made 
only  a  very  partial  progress  in  his  studies,  and  remained 
much  of  a  stranger  in  the  family. 

The  Doctor  was  a  pattern  of  regularity.  All  fore« 
noon  he  worked  on  his  great  book,  the  *' Comparative 
Pharmacopoeia,  or  Historical  Dictionary  of  all  Medi- 
cines," which  as  yet  consisted  principally  of  slips  of 
paper  and  pins.  When  finished,  it  was  to  fill  many 
personable  volumes  and  to  combine  antiquarian  interest 
with  professional  utility.  But  the  Doctor  was  studious 
of  literary  graces  and  the  picturesque ;  an  anecdote,  a 
touch  of  manners,  a  moral  qualification,  or  a  sounding 
epithet  was  sure  to  be  preferred  before  a  piece  of  science ; 
a  little  more,  and  he  would  have  written  the  **  Com- 
parative Pharmacopoeia  "  in  verse  I    The  article  ''  Mum- 

222 


THE   EDUCATION   OF  A   PHILOSOPHER 

mia,"  for  instance,  was  already  complete,  though  the 
remainder  of  the  work  had  not  progressed  beyond  the 
letter  A.  It  was  exceedingly  copious  and  entertaining, 
written  with  quaintness  and  colour,  exact,  erudite,  a 
literary  article ;  but  it  would  hardly  have  afforded  guid- 
ance to  a  practising  physician  of  to-day.  The  feminine 
good  sense  of  his  wife  had  led  her  to  point  this  out  with 
uncompromising  sincerity;  for  the  Dictionary  was  duly 
read  aloud  to  her,  betwixt  sleep  and  waking,  as  it  pro- 
ceeded towards  an  infinitely  distant  completion;  and 
the  Doctor  was  a  little  sore  on  the  subject  of  mummies, 
and  sometimes  resented  an  allusion  with  asperity. 

After  the  midday  meal  and  a  proper  period  of  diges- 
tion, he  walked,  sometimes  alone,  sometimes  accom- 
panied by  Jean-Marie ;  for  madame  would  have  preferred 
any  hardship  rather  than  walk. 

She  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  very  busy  person,  continually 
occupied  about  material  comforts,  and  ready  to  drop 
asleep  over  a  novel  the  instant  she  was  disengaged. 
This  was  the  less  objectionable,  as  she  never  snored  or 
grew  distempered  in  complexion  when  she  slept.  On 
the  contrary,  she  looked  the  very  picture  of  luxurious 
and  appetising  ease,  and  woke  without  a  start  to  the 
perfect  possession  of  her  faculties.  1  am  afraid  she  was 
greatly  an  animal,  but  she  was  a  very  nice  animal  to 
have  about.  In  this  way,  she  had  little  to  do  with 
Jean-Marie;  but  the  sympathy  which  had  been  estab- 
lished between  them  on  the  first  night  remained  un- 
broken ;  they  held  occasional  conversations,  mostly  on 
household  matters;  to  the  extreme  disappointment  of 
the  Doctor,  they  occasionally  sallied  off  together  to  that 
temple  of  debasing  superstition,  the  village  church; 

223 


THE  TREASURE   OF   FRANCHARD 

madame  and  he,  both  in  their  Sunday's  best,  drove 
twice  a  month  to  Fontainebleau  and  returned  laden 
with  purchases;  and  in  short,  although  the  Doctor  still 
continued  to  regard  them  as  irreconcilably  antipathetic, 
their  relation  was  as  intimate,  friendly,  and  confidential 
as  their  natures  suffered. 

I  fear,  however,  that  in  her  heart  of  hearts,  madame 
kindly  despised  and  pitied  the  boy.  She  had  no  admi- 
ration for  his  class  of  virtues ;  she  liked  a  smart,  polite, 
forward,  roguish  sort  of  boy,  cap  in  hand,  light  of  foot, 
meeting  the  eye;  she  liked  volubility,  charm,  a  little 
vice  —  the  promise  of  a  second  Doctor  Desprez.  And  it 
was  her  indefeasible  belief  that  Jean-Marie  was  dull. 
''Poor  dear  boy,"  she  had  said  once,  "how  sad  it  is 
that  he  should  be  so  stupid! "  She  had  never  repeated 
that  remark,  for  the  Doctor  had  raged  like  a  wild  bull, 
denouncing  the  brutal  bluntness  of  her  mind,  bemoan- 
ing his  own  fate  to  be  so  unequally  mated  with  an  ass, 
and,  what  touched  Anastasie  more  nearly,  menacing  the 
table  china  by  the  fury  of  his  gesticulations.  But  she 
adhered  silently  to  her  opinion;  and  when  Jean-Marie 
was  sitting,  stolid,  blank,  but  not  unhappy,  over  his 
unfinished  tasks,  she  would  snatch  her  opportunity  in 
the  Doctor's  absence,  go  over  to  him,  put  her  arms 
about  his  neck,  lay  her  cheek  to  his,  and  communicate 
her  sympathy  with  his  distress.  *'Do  not  mind,"  she 
would  say;  "  I,  too,  am  not  at  all  clever,  and  I  can  as- 
sure you  that  it  makes  no  difference  in  life." 

The  Doctor's  view  was  naturally  different.  That 
gentleman  never  wearied  of  the  sound  of  his  own  voice, 
which  was,  to  say  the  truth,  agreeable  enough  to  hear. 
He  now  had  a  listener,  who  was  not  so  cynically  indif- 

224 


THE   EDUCATION   OF  A   PHILOSOPHER 

ferent  as  Anastasie,  and  who  sometimes  put  him  on  his 
mettle  by  the  most  relevant  objections.  Besides,  was 
he  not  educating  the  boy  ?  And  education,  philoso- 
phers are  agreed,  is  the  most  philosophical  of  duties. 
What  can  be  more  heavenly  to  poor  mankind  than  to 
have  one's  hobby  grow  into  a  duty  to  the  State  ?  Then, 
indeed,  do  the  ways  of  life  become  ways  of  pleasantness. 
Never  had  the  Doctor  seen  reason  to  be  more  content 
with  his  endowments.  Philosophy  flowed  smoothly 
from  his  lips.  He  was  so  agile  a  dialectician  that  he 
could  trace  his  nonsense,  when  challenged,  back  to 
some  root  in  sense,  and  prove  it  to  be  a  sort  of  flower 
upon  his  system.  He  slipped  out  of  antinomies  like  a 
fish,  and  left  his  disciple  marvelling  at  the  rabbi's  depth. 

Moreover,  deep  down  in  his  heart  the  Doctor  was 
disappointed  with  the  ill-success  of  his  more  formal  ed- 
ucation. A  boy,  chosen  by  so  acute  an  observer  for  his 
aptitude,  and  guided  along  the  path  of  learning  by  so 
philosophic  an  instructor,  was  bound,  by  the  nature  of 
the  universe,  to  make  a  more  obvious  and  lasting  ad- 
vance. Now  Jean-Marie  was  slow  in  all  things,  impen- 
etrable in  others ;  and  his  power  of  forgetting  was  fully 
on  a  level  with  his  power  to  learn.  Therefore  the  Doc- 
tor cherished  his  peripatetic  lectures,  to  which  the  boy 
attended,  which  he  generally  appeared  to  enjoy,  and  by 
which  he  often  profited. 

Many  and  many  were  the  talks  they  had  together;  and 
health  and  moderation  proved  the  subject  of  the  Doctor's 
divagations.     To  these  he  lovingly  returned. 

"1  lead  you,"  he  would  say,  "by  the  green  pastures. 
My  system,  my  beliefs,  my  medicines,  are  resumed  in 
one  phrase  —  to  avoid  excess.    Blessed  nature,  healthy, 

22'; 


THE  TREASURE   OF   FRANCHARD 

temperate  nature,  abhors  and  exterminates  excess. 
Human  law,  in  this  matter,  imitates  at  a  great  distance 
her  provisions;  and  we  must  strive  to  supplement  the 
efforts  of  the  law.  Yes,  boy,  we  must  be  a  law  to  our- 
selves and  for  our  neighbours  —  lex  armata  —  armed, 
emphatic,  tyrannous  law.  If  you  see  a  crapulous  human 
ruin  snuffmg,  dash  him  from  his  box!  The  judge, 
though  in  a  way  an  admission  of  disease,  is  less  offensive 
to  me  than  either  the  doctor  or  the  priest.  Above  all 
the  doctor  —  the  doctor  and  the  purulent  trash  and 
garbage  of  his  pharmacopoeia!  Pure  air — from  the 
neighbourhood  of  a  pinetum  for  the  sake  of  the  turpen- 
tine—  unadulterated  wine,  and  the  reflections  of  an  un- 
sophisticated spirit  in  the  presence  of  the  works  of  nature 
—  these,  my  boy,  are  the  best  medical  appliances  and 
the  best  religious  comforts.  Devote  yourself  to  these. 
Hark !  there  are  the  bells  of  Bourron  (the  wind  is  in  the 
north,  it  will  be  fair).  How  clear  and  airy  is  the  sound ! 
The  nerves  are  harmonised  and  quieted ;  the  mind  at- 
tuned to  silence;  and  observe  how  easily  and  regularly 
beats  the  heart !  Your  unenlightened  doctor  would  see 
nothing  in  these  sensations ;  and  yet  you  yourself  per- 
ceive they  are  a  part  of  health. —  Did  you  remember 
your  cinchona  this  morning  }  Good.  Cinchona  also  is 
a  work  of  nature :  it  is,  after  all,  only  the  bark  of  a  tree 
which  we  might  gather  for  ourselves  if  we  lived  in  the 
locality. —  What  a  world  is  this!  Though  a  professed 
atheist,  I  delight  to  bear  my  testimony  to  the  world. 
Look  at  the  gratuitous  remedies  and  pleasures  that  sur- 
round our  path!  The  river  runs  by  the  garden  end, 
our  bath,  our  fish-pond,  our  natural  system  of  drainage. 
There  is  a  well  in  the  court  which  sends  up  sparkling 

226 


THE   EDUCATION   OF   A   PHILOSOPHER 

water  from  the  earth's  very  heart,  clean,  cool,  and,  with 
a  little  wine,  most  wholesome.  The  district  is  notori- 
ous for  its  salubrity ;  rheumatism  is  the  only  prevalent 
complaint,  and  1  myself  have  never  had  a  touch  of  it. 
I  tell  you  —  and  my  opinion  is  based  upon  the  coldest, 
clearest  processes  of  reason  —  if  I,  if  you,  desired  to 
leave  this  home  of  pleasures,  it  would  be  the  duty,  it 
would  be  the  privilege,  of  our  best  friend  to  prevent  us 
with  a  pistol  bullet." 

One  beautiful  June  day  they  sat  upon  the  hill  outside 
the  village.  The  river,  as  blue  as  heaven,  shone  here 
and  there  among  the  foliage.  The  indefatigable  birds 
turned  and  flickered  about  Gretz  church  tower.  A 
healthy  wind  blew  from  over  the  forest,  and  the  sound 
of  innumerable  thousands  of  tree-tops  and  innumerable 
millions  on  millions  of  green  leaves  was  abroad  in  the 
air,  and  filled  the  ear  with  something  between  whispered 
speech  and  singing.  It  seemed  as  if  every  blade  of  grass 
must  hide  a  cigale;  and  the  fields  rang  merrily  with 
their  music,  jingling  far  and  near  as  with  the  sleigh- 
bells  of  the  fairy  queen.  From  their  station  on  the 
slope  the  eye  embraced  a  large  space  of  poplar'd  plain 
upon  the  one  hand,  the  waving  hill-tops  of  the  forest  on 
the  other,  and  Gretz  itself  in  the  middle,  a  handful  of 
roofs.  Under  the  bestriding  arch  of  the  blue  heavens, 
the  place  seemed  dwindled  to  a  toy.  It  seemed  incred- 
ible that  people  dwelt,  and  could  find  room  to  turn  or 
air  to  breathe,  in  such  a  corner  of  the  world.  The 
thought  came  home  to  the  boy,  perhaps  for  the  first 
time,  and  he  gave  it  words. 

"  How  small  it  looks!  "  he  sighed. 

"Ay,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "small  enough  now.  Yet 
227 


THE  TREASURE   OF   FRANCHARD 

it  was  once  a  walled  city ;  thriving,  full  of  furred  bur- 
gesses and  men  in  armour,  humming  with  affairs; — 
with  tall  spires,  for  aught  that  I  know,  and  portly  towers 
along  the  battlements.  A  thousand  chimneys  ceased 
smoking  at  the  curfew  bell.  There  were  gibbets  at  the 
gate  as  thick  as  scarecrows.  In  time  of  war,  the  assault 
swarmed  against  it  with  ladders,  the  arrows  fell  like 
leaves,  the  defenders  sallied  hotly  over  the  drawbridge, 
each  side  uttered  its  cry  as  they  plied  their  weapons. 
Do  you  know  that  the  walls  extended  as  far  as  the  Com- 
manderie?  Tradition  so  reports.  Alas,  what  a  long 
way  off  is  all  this  confusion  —  nothing  left  of  it  but  my 
quiet  words  spoken  in  your  ear  —  and  the  town  itself 
shrunk  to  the  hamlet  underneath  us !  By-and-by  came 
the  English  wars  —  you  shall  hear  more  of  the  English, 
a  stupid  people,  who  sometimes  blundered  into  good  — 
and  Gretz  was  taken,  sacked,  and  burned.  It  is  the 
history  of  many  towns ;  but  Gretz  never  rose  again ;  it 
was  never  rebuilt ;  its  ruins  were  a  quarry  to  serve  the 
growth  of  rivals ;  and  the  stones  of  Gretz  are  now  erect 
along  the  streets  of  Nemours.  It  gratifies  me  that  our 
old  house  was  the  first  to  rise  after  the  calamity ;  when 
the  town  had  come  to  an  end,  it  inaugurated  the  hamlet. " 

"\,  too,  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Jean-Marie. 

"It  should  be  the  temple  of  the  humbler  virtues,"  re- 
sponded the  Doctor  with  a  savoury  gusto.  "  Perhaps 
one  of  the  reasons  why  I  love  my  little  hamlet  as  I  do, 
is  that  we  have  a  similar  history,  she  and  I.  Have  I  told 
you  that  1  was  once  rich  ?" 

"I  do  not  think  so,"  answered  Jean-Marie.  *'I  do 
not  think  I  should  have  forgotten.  I  am  sorry  you 
should  have  lost  your  fortune." 

228 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A   PHILOSOPHER 

"Sorry?"  cried  the  Doctor.  "Why,  I  find  I  have 
scarce  begun  your  education  after  all.  Listen  to  me! 
Would  you  rather  live  in  the  old  Gretz  or  in  the  new, 
free  from  the  alarms  of  war,  with  the  green  country  at 
the  door,  without  noise,  passports,  the  exactions  of  the 
soldiery,  or  the  jangle  of  the  curfew-bell  to  send  us  off 
to  bed  by  sundown  ?  " 

"I  suppose  I  should  prefer  the  new,"  replied  the  boy. 

"Precisely,"  returned  the  Doctor;  "so  do  I.  And, 
in  the  same  way,  I  prefer  my  present  moderate  fortune 
to  my  former  wealth.  Golden  mediocrity!  cried  the 
adorable  ancients;  and  I  subscribe  to  their  enthusiasm. 
Have  I  not  good  wine,  good  food,  good  air,  the  fields 
and  the  forest  for  my  walk,  a  house,  an  admirable  wife, 
a  boy  whom  I  protest  I  cherish  like  a  son  ?  Now,  if  I 
were  still  rich,  I  should  indubitably  make  my  residence 
in  Paris  —  you  know  Paris  —  Paris  and  Paradise  are  not 
convertible  terms.  This  pleasant  noise  of  the  wind 
streaming  among  leaves  changed  into  the  grinding  Babel 
of  the  street,  the  stupid  glare  of  plaster  substituted  for 
this  quiet  pattern  of  greens  and  greys,  the  nerves  shat- 
tered, the  digestion  falsified  —  picture  the  fall !  Already 
you  perceive  the  consequences;  the  mind  is  stimulated, 
the  heart  steps  to  a  different  measure,  and  the  man  is 
himself  no  longer.  I  have  passionately  studied  myself 
—  the  true  business  of  philosophy.  I  know  my  character 
as  the  musician  knows  the  ventages  of  his  flute.  Should 
I  return  to  Paris,  I  should  ruin  myself  gambling;  nay,  1 
go  further  —  I  should  break  the  heart  of  my  Anastasie 
with  infidelities." 

This  was  too  much  for  Jean-Marie.  That  a  place 
should  so  transform  the  most  excellent  of  men  tran- 

aa9 


THE  TREASURE  OF   FRANCHARD 

scended  his  belief.  Paris,  he  protested,  was  even  an 
agreeable  place  of  residence.  "Nor  when  I  lived  in 
that  city  did  I  feel  much  difference,"  he  pleaded. 

"What!"  cried  the  Doctor.  "Did  you  not  steal 
when  you  were  there?" 

But  the  boy  could  never  be  brought  to  see  that  he 
had  done  anything  wrong  when  he  stole.  Nor,  indeed, 
did  the  Doctor  think  he  had ;  but  that  gentleman  was 
never  very  scrupulous  when  in  want  of  a  retort. 

"And  now,"  he  concluded,  "do  you  begin  to  under- 
stand ?  My  only  friends  were  those  who  ruined  me. 
Gretz  has  been  my  academy,  my  sanatorium,  my  heaven 
of  innocent  pleasures.  If  millions  are  offered  me,  I 
wave  them  back :  Retro,  Satbanas  / —  evil  one,  begone  I 
Fix  your  mind  on  my  example;  despise  riches,  avoid 
the  debasing  influence  of  cities.  Hygiene  —  hygiene 
and  mediocrity  of  fortune  —  these  be  your  watchwords 
during  life ! " 

The  Doctor's  system  of  hygiene  strikingly  coincided 
with  his  tastes ;  and  his  picture  of  the  perfect  life  was 
a  faithful  description  of  the  one  he  was  leading  at 
the  time.  But  it  is  easy  to  convince  a  boy,  whom  you 
supply  with  all  the  facts  for  the  discussion.  And  be- 
sides, there  was  one  thing  admirable  in  the  philosophy, 
and  that  was  the  enthusiasm  of  the  philosopher.  There 
was  never  any  one  more  vigorously  determined  to  be 
pleased;  and  if  he  was  not  a  great  logician,  and  so  had 
no  right  to  convince  the  intellect,  he  was  certainly 
something  of  a  poet,  and  had  a  fascination  to  seduce 
the  heart.  What  he  could  not  achieve  in  his  customary 
humour  of  a  radiant  admiration  of  himself  and  his  cir- 
cumstances, he  sometimes  effected  in  his  fits  of  gloom. 

230 


THE   EDUCATION   OF  A   PHILOSOPHER 

"  Boy,"  he  would  say,  "  avoid  me  to-day.  If  I  were 
superstitious,  I  should  even  beg  for  an  interest  in  your 
prayers.  I  am  in  the  black  fit;  the  evil  spirit  of  King 
Saul,  the  hag  of  the  merchant  Abudah,  the  personal 
devil  of  the  mediaeval  monk,  is  with  me  —  is  in  me," 
tapping  on  his  breast.  ' '  The  vices  of  my  nature  are  now 
uppermost;  innocent  pleasures  woo  me  in  vain;  I  long 
for  Paris,  for  my  wallowing  in  the  mire.  See,"  he 
would  continue,  producing  a  handful  of  silver,  'M  de- 
nude myself,  1  am  not  to  be  trusted  with  the  price  of  a 
fare.  Take  it,  keep  it  for  me,  squander  it  on  deleteri- 
ous candy,  throw  it  in  the  deepest  of  the  river  —  I  will 
homologate  your  action.  Save  me  from  that  part  of 
myself  which  I  disown.  If  you  see  me  falter,  do  not 
hesitate;  if  necessary,  wreck  the  train!  I  speak,  of 
course,  by  a  parable.  Any  extremity  were  better  than 
for  me  to  reach  Paris  alive." 

Doubtless  the  Doctor  enjoyed  these  little  scenes,  as  a 
variation  in  his  part ;  they  represented  the  Byronic  ele- 
ment in  the  somewhat  artificial  poetry  of  his  existence ; 
but  to  the  boy,  though  he  was  dimly  aware  of  their  the- 
atricality, they  represented  more.  The  Doctor  made 
perhaps  too  little,  the  boy  possibly  too  much,  of  the  re- 
ality and  gravity  of  these  temptations. 

One  day  a  great  light  shone  for  Jean-Marie.  "Could 
not  riches  be  used  well  ?  "  he  asked. 

"In  theory,  yes,"  replied  the  Doctor.  "But  it  is 
found  in  experience  that  no  one  does  so.  All  the  world 
imagine  they  will  be  exceptional  when  they  grow 
wealthy ;  but  possession  is  debasing,  new  desires  spring 
up ;  and  the  silly  taste  for  ostentation  eats  out  the  heart 
of  pleasure." 

331 


THE  TREASURE   OF   FRANCHARD 

**Then  you  might  be  better  if  you  had  less,"  said  the 
boy. 

** Certainly  not,"  replied  the  Doctor;  but  his  voice 
quavered  as  he  spoke. 

'*Why?"  demanded  pitiless  innocence. 

Doctor  Desprez  saw  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow  in 
a  moment;  the  stable  universe  appeared  to  be  about 
capsizing  with  him.  ''Because,"  said  he — affecting  de- 
liberation after  an  obvious  pause — '*  because  I  have 
formed  my  life  for  my  present  income.  It  is  not  good 
for  men  of  my  years  to  be  violently  dissevered  from 
their  habits." 

That  was  a  sharp  brush.  The  Doctor  breathed  hard, 
and  fell  into  taciturnity  for  the  afternoon.  As  for  the 
boy,  he  was  delighted  with  the  resolution  of  his  doubts ; 
even  wondered  that  he  had  not  foreseen  the  obvious  and 
conclusive  answer.  His  faith  in  the  Doctor  was  a  stout 
piece  of  goods.  Desprez  was  inclined  to  be  a  sheet  in 
the  wind's  eye  after  dinner,  especially  after  Rhone  wine, 
his  favourite  weakness.  He  would  then  remark  on  the 
warmth  of  his  feeling  for  Anastasie,  and  with  inflamed 
cheeks  and  a  loose,  flustered  smile,  debate  upon  all  sorts 
of  topics,  and  be  feebly  and  indiscreetly  witty.  But  the 
adopted  stable-boy  would  not  permit  himself  to  enter- 
tain a  doubt  that  savoured  of  ingratitude.  It  is  quite 
true  that  a  man  may  be  a  second  father  to  you,  and  yet 
take  too  much  to  drink ;  but  the  best  natures  are  ever 
slow  to  accept  such  truths. 

The  Doctor  thoroughly  possessed  his  heart,  but  per- 
haps he  exaggerated  his  influence  over  his  mind.  Cer- 
tainly Jean-Marie  adopted  some  of  his  master's  opinions, 
but  I  have  yet  to  learn  that  he  ever  surrendered  one  of 

232 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A   PHILOSOPHER 

his  own.  Convictions  existed  in  him  by  divine  right; 
they  were  virgin,  unwrought,  the  brute  metal  of  de- 
cision. He  could  add  others  indeed,  but  he  could  not 
put  away ;  neither  did  he  care  if  they  were  perfectly 
agreed  among  themselves;  and  his  spiritual  pleasures 
had  nothing  to  do  with  turning  them  over  or  justifying 
them  in  words.  Words  were  with  him  a  mere  accom- 
plishment, like  dancing.  When  he  was  by  himself, 
his  pleasures  were  almost  vegetable.  He  would  slip 
into  the  woods  towards  Acheres,  and  sit  in  the  mouth 
of  a  cave  among  grey  birches.  His  soul  stared  straight 
out  of  his  eyes;  he  did  not  move  or  think;  sunlight, 
thin  shadows  moving  in  the  wind,  the  edge  of  firs 
against  the  sky,  occupied  and  bound  his  faculties.  He 
was  pure  unity,  a  spirit  wholly  abstracted.  A  single 
mood  filled  him,  to  which  all  the  objects  of  sense  con- 
tributed, as  the  colours  of  the  spectrum  merge  and  dis- 
appear in  white  light. 

So  while  the  Doctor  made  himself  drunk  with  words, 
the  adopted  stable-boy  bemused  himself  with  silence. 


3^3 


CHAPTER  V 

TREASURE   TROVE 

The  Doctor's  carriage  was  a  two-wheeled  gig  with  a 
hood ;  a  kind  of  vehicle  in  much  favour  among  country 
doctors.  On  how  many  roads  has  one  not  seen  it,  a 
great  way  off  between  the  poplars!  —  in  how  many  vil- 
lage streets,  tied  to  a  gate-post !  This  sort  of  chariot  is 
affected  —  particularly  at  the  trot  —  by  a  kind  of  pitch- 
ing movement  to  and  fro  across  the  axle,  which  well 
entitles  it  to  the  style  of  a  Noddy.  The  hood  describes 
a  considerable  arc  against  the  landscape,  with  a  solemnly 
absurd  effect  on  the  contemplative  pedestrian.  To  ride 
in  such  a  carriage  cannot  be  numbered  among  the  things 
that  appertain  to  glory ;  but  I  have  no  doubt  it  may  be 
useful  in  liver  complaint.  Thence,  perhaps,  its  wide 
popularity  among  physicians. 

One  morning  early,  Jean-Marie  led  forth  the  Doctor's 
noddy,  opened  the  gate,  and  mounted  to  the  driving- 
seat.  The  Doctor  followed,  arrayed  from  top  to  toe  in 
spotless  linen,  armed  with  an  immense  flesh-coloured 
umbrella,  and  girt  with  a  botanical  case  on  a  baldric; 
and  the  equipage  drove  off  smartly  in  a  breeze  of  its 
own  provocation.  They  were  bound  for  Franchard,  to 
collect  plants,  with  an  eye  to  the  **  Comparative  Phar- 
macopoeia." 

234 


TREASURE  TROVE 

A  little  rattling  on  the  open  roads,  and  they  came  to 
the  borders  of  the  forest  and  struck  into > an  unfrequented 
track ;  the  noddy  yawed  softly  over  the  sand,  with  an 
accompaniment  of  snapping  twigs.  There  was  a  great, 
green,  softly  murmuring  cloud  of  congregated  foliage 
overheard.  In  the  arcades  of  the  forest  the  air  retained 
the  freshness  of  the  night.  The  athletic  bearing  of 
the  trees,  each  carrying  its  leafy  mountain,  pleased  the 
mind  like  so  many  statues,  and  the  lines  of  the  trunk 
led  the  eye  admiringly  upward  to  where  the  extreme 
leaves  sparkled  in  a  patch  of  azure.  Squirrels  leaped  in 
mid  air.  It  was  a  proper  spot  for  a  devotee  of  the  god- 
dess Hygieia. 

"Have  you  been  to  Franchard,  Jean-Marie }"  inquired 
the  Doctor.     "I  fancy  not." 

"Never,"  replied  the  boy. 

"  It  is  ruin  in  a  gorge,"  continued  Desprez,  adopting 
his  expository  voice;  "the  ruin  of  a  hermitage  and 
chapel.  History  tells  us  much  of  Franchard;  how  the 
recluse  was  often  slain  by  robbers;  how  he  lived  on  a 
most  insufficient  diet;  how  he  was  expected  to  pass  his 
days  in  prayer.  A  letter  is  preserved,  addressed  to  one 
of  these  solitaries  by  the  superior  of  his  order,  full  of  ad- 
mirable hygienic  advice;  bidding  him  go  from  his  book 
to  praying,  and  so  back  again,  for  variety's  sake,  and 
when  he  was  weary  of  both  to  stroll  about  his  garden 
and  observe  the  honey  bees.  It  is  to  this  day  my  own 
system.  You  must  have  often  remarked  me  leaving  the 
*  Pharmacopoeia ' — often  even  in  the  middle  of  a  phrase 
—  to  come  forth  into  the  sun  and  air.  I  admire  the  wri- 
ter of  that  letter  from  my  heart;  he  was  a  man  of  thought 
on  the  most  important  subjects.    But,  indeed,  had  I  lived 

335 


THE  TREASURE   OF   FRANCHARD 

in  the  Middle  Ages  (I  am  heartily  glad  that  I  did  not) 
I  should  have  been  an  eremite  myself — if  I  had  not  been 
a  professed  buffoon,  that  is.  These  were  the  only  philo- 
sophical lives  yet  open:  laughter  or  prayer;  sneers,  we 
might  say,  and  tears.  Until  the  sun  of  the  Positive 
arose,  the  wise  man  had  to  make  his  choice  between 
these  two." 

"I  have  been  a  buffoon,  of  course,"  observed  Jean- 
Marie. 

"  I  cannot  imagine  you  to  have  excelled  in  your  pro- 
fession," said  the  Doctor,  admiring  the  boy's  gravity. 
''  Do  you  ever  laugh  ?" 

*'0h,  yes,"  replied  the  other.  **  I  laugh  often.  I  am 
very  fond  of  jokes." 

"Singular  being!"  said  Desprez.  ''But  I  divagate 
(1  perceive  in  a  thousand  ways  that  I  grow  old).  Fran- 
chard  was  at  length  destroyed  in  the  English  wars,  the 
same  that  levelled  Gretz.  But — here  is  the  point  —  the 
hermits  (for  there  were  already  more  than  one)  had 
foreseen  the  danger  and  carefully  concealed  the  sacrificial 
vessels.  These  vessels  were  of  monstrous  value,  Jean- 
Marie —  monstrous  value  —  priceless,  we  may  say;  ex- 
quisrtely  worked,  of  exquisite  material.  And  now,  mark 
me,  they  have  never  been  found.  In  the  reign  of  Louis 
Quatorze  some  fellows  were  digging  hard  by  the  ruins. 
Suddenly  —  tock!  —  the  spade  hit  upon  an  obstacle. 
Imagine  the  men  looking  one  to  another;  imagine  how 
their  hearts  bounded,  how  their  colour  came  and  went. 
It  was  a  coffer,  and  in  Franchard  the  place  of  buried 
treasure !  They  tore  it  open  like  famished  beasts.  Alas ! 
it  was  not  the  treasure ;  only  some  priestly  robes,  which, 
at  the  touch  of  the  eating  air,  fell  upon  themselves  and 

236 


TREASURE  TROVE 

instantly  wasted  into  dust.  The  perspiration  of  these 
good  fellows  turned  cold  upon  them,  Jean-Marie.  1 
will  pledge  my  reputation,  if  there  was  anything  like 
a  cutting  wind,  one  or  other  had  a  pneumonia  for  his 
trouble." 

"I  should  like  to  have  seen  them  turning  into  dust," 
said  Jean-Marie.  ''Otherwise,  I  should  not  have  cared 
so  greatly." 

' '  You  have  no  imagination, "  cried  the  Doctor.  *  *  Pic- 
ture to  yourself  the  scene.  Dwell  on  the  idea — a  great 
treasure  lying  in  the  earth  for  centuries:  the  material 
for  a  giddy,  copious,  opulent  existence  not  employed ; 
dresses  and  exquisite  pictures  unseen ;  the  swiftest  gal- 
loping horses  not  stirring  a  hoof,  arrested  by  a  spell; 
women  with  the  beautiful  faculty  of  smiles,  not  smiling; 
cards,  dice,  opera  singing,  orchestras,  castles,  beautiful 
parks  and  gardens,  big  ships  with  a  tower  of  sailcloth, 
all  lying  unborn  in  a  coffin  —  and  the  stupid  trees  grow- 
ing overhead  in  the  sunlight,  year  after  year.  The  thought 
drives  one  frantic." 

"  It  is  only  money,"  replied  Jean-Marie.  "  It  would 
do  harm." 

"O  come!"  cried  Desprez,  "that  is  philosophy;  it 
is  all  very  fine,  but  not  to  the  point  just  now.  And  be- 
sides, it  is  not  'only  money,'  as  you  call  it;  there  are 
works  of  art  in  the  question ;  the  vessels  were  carved. 
You  speak  like  a  child.  You  weary  me  exceedingly, 
quoting  my  words  out  of  all  logical  connection,  like  a 
parroquet." 

"And  at  any  rate,  we  have  nothing  to  do  with  it," 
returned  the  boy  submissively. 

They  struck  the  Route  Ronde  at  that  moment;  and 
237 


THE  TREASURE   OF   FRANCHARD 

the  sudden  change  to  the  rattling  causeway  combined, 
with  the  Doctor's  irritation,  to  keep  him  silent.  The 
noddy  jigged  along;  the  trees  went  by,  looking  on 
silently,  as  if  they  had  something  on  their  minds.  The 
Quadrilateral  was  passed ;  then  came  Franchard.  They 
put  up  the  horse  at  the  little  solitary  inn,  and  went 
forth  strolling;  the  gorge  was  dyed  deeply  with  heather; 
the  rocks  and  birches  standing  luminous  in  the  sun.  A 
great  humming  of  bees  about  the  flowers  disposed  Jean- 
Marie  to  sleep,  and  he  sat  down  against  a  clump  of 
heather,  while  the  Doctor  went  briskly  to  and  fro,  with 
quick  turns,  culling  his  simples. 

The  boy's  head  had  fallen  a  little  forward,  his  eyes 
were  closed,  his  fingers  had  fallen  lax  about  his  knees, 
when  a  sudden  cry  called  him  to  his  feet.  It  was  a 
strange  sound,  thin  and  brief;  it  fell  dead,  and  silence 
returned  as  though  it  had  never  been  interrupted.  He 
had  not  recognised  the  Doctor's  voice;  but,  as  there 
was  no  one  else  in  all  the  valley,  it  was  plainly  the 
Doctor  who  had  given  utterance  to  the  sound.  He 
looked  right  and  left,  and  there  was  Desprez,  standing 
in  a  niche  between  two  boulders,  and  looking  round 
on  his  adopted  son  with  a  countenance  as  white  as 
paper. 

**  A  viper!  "  cried  Jean-Marie,  running  towards  him. 
'  *  A  viper !    You  are  bitten !  " 

The  Doctor  came  down  heavily  out  of  the  cleft,  and 
advanced  in  silence  to  meet  the  boy,  whom  he  took 
roughly  by  the  shoulder. 

"  I  have  found  it,"  he  said,  with  a  gasp. 

*'  A  plant  ?  '"*asked  Jean-Marie. 

Desprez  had  a  fit  of  unnatural  gaiety,  which  the  rocks 
238 


TREASURE  TROVE 

took  Up  and  mimicked.  "  A  plant!  "  he  repeated  scorn- 
fully. "Well  —  yes  —  a  plant.  And  here,"  he  added 
suddenly,  showing  his  right  hand,  which  he  had  hitherto 
concealed  behind  his  back  —  '  *  here  is  one  of  the  bulbs. " 

Jean-Marie  saw  a  dirty  platter,  coated  with  earth. 

"That  ? "  said  he.     "  It  is  a  plate!  " 

"  It  is  a  coach  and  horses,"  cried  the  Doctor.  "  Boy," 
he  continued,  growing  warmer,  "I  plucked  away  a 
great  pad  of  moss  from  between  these  boulders,  and 
disclosed  a  crevice;  and  when  I  looked  in,  what  do  you 
suppose  I  saw  ?  I  saw  a  house  in  Paris  with  a  court 
and  garden,  I  saw  my  wife  shining  with  diamonds,  I 
saw  myself  a  deputy,  I  saw  you  —  well,  I  —  I  saw  your 
future,"  he  concluded,  rather  feebly.  "  I  have  just  dis- 
covered America,"  he  added. 

"  But  what  is  it  ?"  asked  the  boy. 

"The  Treasure  of  Franchard,"  cried  the  Doctor; 
and,  throwing  his  brown  straw  hat  upon  the  ground,  he 
whooped  like  an  Indian  and  sprang  upon  Jean-Marie, 
whom  he  suffocated  with  embraces  and  bedewed  with 
tears.  Then  he  flung  himself  down  among  the  heather 
and  once  more  laughed  until  the  valley  rang. 

But  the  boy  had  now  an  interest  of  his  own,  a  boy's 
interest.  No  sooner  was  he  released  from  the  Doctor's 
accolade  than  he  ran  to  the  boulders,  sprang  into  the 
niche,  and,  thrusting  his  hand  into  the  crevice,  drew 
forth  one  after  another,  encrusted  with  the  earth  of  ages, 
the  flagons,  candlesticks,  and  patens  of  the  hermitage  of 
Franchard.  A  casket  came  last,  tightly  shut  and  very 
heavy. 

"O,  what  fun!  "  he  cried. 

But  when  he  looked  back  at  the  Doctor,  who  had  fol- 
339 


THE  TREASURE  OF   FRANCHARD 

lowed  close  behind  and  was  silently  observing,  the  words 
died  from  his  lips.  Desprez  was  once  more  the  colour 
of  ashes ;  his  lip  worked  and  trembled ;  a  sort  of  bestial 
greed  possessed  him. 

''This  is  childish,"  he  said.  "We  lose  precious 
time.  Back  to  the  inn,  harness  the  trap,  and  bring  it  to 
yon  bank.  Run  for  your  life,  and  remember  —  not  one 
whisper.     I  stay  here  to  watch." 

Jean-Marie  did  as  he  was  bid,  though  not  without 
surprise.  The  noddy  was  brought  round  to  the  spot 
indicated ;  and  the  two  gradually  transported  the  trea- 
sure from  its  place  of  concealment  to  the  boot  below  the 
driving  seat.  Once  it  was  all  stored  the  Doctor  recov- 
ered his  gaiety. 

"  I  pay  my  grateful  duties  to  the  genius  of  this  dell," 
he  said.  "Oh,  for  a  live  coal,  a  heifer,  and  a  jar  of 
country  wine !  I  am  in  the  vein  for  sacrifice,  for  a  su- 
perb libation.  Well,  and  why  not  ?  We  are  at  Fran- 
chard.  English  pale  ale  is  to  be  had  —  not  classical, 
indeed,  but  excellent.     Boy,  we  shall  drink  ale." 

"  But  I  thought  it  was  so  unwholesome,"  said  Jean- 
Marie,  "and  very  dear  besides." 

' '  Fiddle-de-dee !  "  exclaimed  the  Doctor  gaily.  ' '  To 
the  inn!" 

And  he  stepped  into  the  noddy,  tossing  his  head, 
with  an  elastic,  youthful  air.  The  horse  was  turned, 
and  in  a  few  seconds  they  drew  up  beside  the  palings 
of  the  inn  garden. 

"Here,"  said  Desprez — "here,  near  the  stable,  so 
that  we  may  keep  an  eye  upon  things." 

They  tied  the  horse,  and  entered  the  garden,  the  Doc- 
tor singing,  now  in  fantastic  high  notes,  now  produc- 

240 


TREASURE  TROVE 

ing  deep  reverberations  from  his  chest.  He  took  a  seat, 
rapped  loudly  on  the  table,  assailed  the  waiter  with  wit- 
ticisms; and  when  the  bottle  of  Bass  was  at  length  pro- 
duced, far  more  charged  with  gas  than  the  most  delirious 
champagne,  he  filled  out  a  long  glassful  of  froth  and 
pushed  it  over  to  Jean-Marie.  "Drink,"  he  said; 
** drink  deep." 

**  I  would  rather  not,"  faltered  the  boy,  true  to  his 
training. 

"What?"  thundered  Desprez. 

"I  am  afraid  of* it,"  said. Jean-Marie;  "my  stom- 
ach  " 

"Take  it  or  leave  it,"  interrupted  Desprez  fiercely; 
"but  understand  it  once  for  all  —  there  is  nothing  so 
contemptible  as  a  precisian." 

Here  was  a  new  lesson !  The  boy  sat  bemused,  look- 
ing at  the  glass  but  not  tasting  it,  while  the  Doctor 
emptied  and  refilled  his  own,  at  first  with  clouded  brow, 
but  gradually  yielding  to  the  sun,  the  heady,  prickling 
beverage,  and  his  own  predisposition  to  be  happy. 

"Once  in  a  way,"  he  said  at  last,  by  way  of  a  conces- 
sion to  the  boy's  more  rigorous  attitude,  "once  in  a 
way,  and  at  so  critical  a  moment,  this  ale  is  a  nectar  for 
the  gods.  The  habit,  indeed,  is  debasing;  wine,  the 
juice  of  the  grape,  is  the  true  drink  of  the  Frenchman, 
as  I  have  often  had  occasion  to  point  out;  and  1  do  not 
know  that  I  can  blame  you  for  refusing  this  outlandish 
stimulant.  You  can  have  some  wine  and  cakes.  Is  the 
bottle  empty.?  Well,  we  will  not  be  proud;  we  will 
have  pity  on  your  glass." 

The  beer  being  done,  the  Doctor  chafed  bitterly  while 
Jean-Marie  finished  his  cakes.     "I  burn  to  be  gone," 

241 


THE  TREASURE  OF   FRANCHARD 

he  said,  looking  at  his  watch.  *'  Good  God,  how  slow 
you  eat! "  And  yet  to  eat  slowly  was  his  own  particu- 
lar prescription,  the  main  secret  of  longevity! 

His  martyrdom,  however,  reached  an  end  at  last;  the 
pair  resumed  their  places  in  the  buggy,  and  Desprez, 
leaning  luxuriously  back,  announced  his  intention  of 
proceeding  to  Fontainebleau. 

'*  To  Fontainebleau  ?  "  repeated  Jean-Marie. 

''My  words  are  always  measured,"  said  the  Doctor. 
''On!" 

The  Doctor  was  driven  through  the  glades  of  paradise ; 
the  air,  the  light,  the  shining  leaves,  the  very  move- 
ments of  the  vehicle,  seemed  to  fall  in  tune  with  his 
golden  meditations;  with  his  head  thrown  back,  he 
dreamed  a  series  of  sunny  visions,  ale  and  pleasure 
dancing  in  his  veins.     At  last  he  spoke. 

"I  shall  telegraph  for  Casimir,"  he  said.  "Good 
Casimir!  a  fellow  of  the  lower  order  of  intelligence, 
Jean-Marie,  distinctly  not  creative,  not  poetic;  and  yet 
he  will  repay  your  study ;  his  fortune  is  vast,  and  is  en- 
tirely due  to  his  own  exertions.  He  is  the  very  fellow 
to  help  us  to  dispose  of  our  trinkets,  find  us  a  suitable 
house  in  Paris,  and  manage  the  details  of  our  installa- 
tion. Admirable  Casimir,  one  of  my  oldest  comrades ! 
It  was  on  his  advice,  1  may  add,  that  I  invested  my 
little  fortune  in  Turkish  bonds;  when  we  have  added 
these  spoils  of  the  mediaeval  church  to  our  stake  in  the 
Mahometan  empire,  little  boy,  we  shall  positively  roll 
among  doubloons,  positively  roll!  Beautiful  forest," 
he  cried,  "farewell!  Though  called  to  other  scenes,  1 
will  not  forget  thee.  Thy  name  is  graven  in  my  heart. 
Under  the  influence  of  prosperity  I  become  dithyrambic, 

242 


TREASURE  TROVE 

Jean-Marie.  Such  is  the  impulse  of  the  natural  soul; 
such  was  the  constitution  of  primaeval  man.  And  I  — 
well,  1  will  not  refuse  the  credit  —  1  have  preserved  my 
youth  like  a  virginity;  another,  who  should  have  led 
the  same  snoozing,  countrified  existence  for  these  years, 
another  had  become  rusted,  become  stereotyped ;  but  1, 
I  praise  my  happy  constitution,  retain  the  spring  un- 
broken. Fresh  opulence  and  a  new  sphere  of  duties 
find  me  unabated  in  ardour  and  only  more  mature  by 
knowledge.  For  this  prospective  change,  Jean-Marie  — 
it  may  probably  have  shocked  you.  Tell  me  now,  did 
it  not  strike  you  as  an  inconsistency  ?  Confess  —  it  is 
useless  to  dissemble  —  it  pained  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  boy. 

'*You  see,"  returned  the  Doctor,  with  sublime  fa- 
tuity, **I  read  your  thoughts!  Nor  am  I  surprised  — 
your  education  is  not  yet  complete;  the  higher  duties 
of  men  have  not  been  yet  presented  to  you  fully.  A 
hint  —  till  we  have  leisure  —  must  suffice.  Now  that  I 
am  once  more  in  possession  of  a  modest  competence; 
now  that  I  have  so  long  prepared  myself  in  silent  medi- 
tation, it  becomes  my  superior  duty  to  proceed  to  Paris. 
My  scientific  training,  my  undoubted  command  of  lan- 
guage, mark  me  out  for  the  service  of  my  country. 
Modesty  in  such  a  case  would  be  a  snare.  If  sin  were 
a  philosophical  expression,  I  should  call  it  sinful.  A 
man  must  not  deny  his  manifest  abilities,  for  that  is  to 
evade  his  obligations.  I  must  be  up  and  doing;  I  must 
be  no  skulker  in  life's  battle." 

So  he  rattled  on,  copiously  greasing  the  joint  of  his 
inconsistency  with  words;  while  the  boy  listened  si- 
lently, his  eyes  fixed  on  the  horse,  his  mind  seething. 

243 


THE  TREASURE   OF    FRANCHARD 

it  was  all  lost  eloquence;  no  array  of  words  could  un- 
settle a  belief  of  Jean-Marie's;  and  he  drove  into  Fon- 
tainebleau  filled  with  pity,  horror,  indignation,  and 
despair. 

In  the  town  Jean-Marie  was  kept  a  fixture  on  the 
driving-seat  to  guard  the  treasure;  while  the  Doctor, 
with  a  singular,  slightly  tipsy  airiness  of  manner,  flut- 
tered in  and  out  of  cafes,  where  he  shook  hands  with 
garrison  officers,  and  mixed  an  absinthe  with  the  nicety 
of  old  experience;  in  and  out  of  shops,  from  which  he 
returned  laden  with  costly  fruits,  real  turtle,  a  magnifi- 
cent piece  of  silk  for  his  wife,  a  preposterous  cane  for 
himself,  and  a  kepi  of  the  newest  fashion  for  the  boy ; 
in  and  out  of  the  telegraph  office,  whence  he  despatched 
his  telegram,  and  where  three  hours  later  he  received 
an  answer  promising  a  visit  on  the  morrow ;  and  gen- 
erally pervaded  Fontainebleau  with  the  first  fine  aroma 
of  his  divine  good  humour. 

The  sun  was  very  low  when  they  set  forth  again ;  the 
shadows  of  the  forest  trees  extended  across  the  broad 
white  road  that  led  them  home ;  the  penetrating  odour 
of  the  evening  wood  had  already  arisen,  like  a  cloud  of 
incense,  from  that  broad  field  of  tree-tops ;  and  even  in 
the  streets  of  the  town,  where  the  air  had  been  baked 
all  day  between  white  walls,  it  came  in  whiffs  and 
pulses,  like  a  distant  music.  Half-way  home,  the  last 
gold  flicker  vanished  from  a  great  oak  upon  the  left; 
and  when  they  came  forth  beyond  the  borders  of  the 
wood,  the  plain  was  already  sunken  in  pearly  greyness, 
and  a  great,  pale  moon  came  swinging  skyward  through 
the  filmy  poplars. 

The  Doctor  sang,  the  Doctor  whistled,  the  Doctor 
244 


TREASURE  TROVE 

talked.  He  spoke  of  the  woods,  and  the  wars,  and  the 
deposition  of  dew;  he  brightened  and  babbled  of  Paris; 
he  soared  into  cloudy  bombast  on  the  glories  of  the 
political  arena.  All  was  to  be  changed;  as  the  day  de- 
parted, it  took  with  it  the  vestiges  of  an  outworn  exist- 
ence, and  to-morrow's  sun  was  to  inaugurate  the  new. 
"Enough,"  he  cried,  "of  this  life  of  maceration!" 
His  wife  (still  beautiful,  or  he  was  sadly  partial)  was  to 
be  no  longer  buried ;  she  should  now  shine  before  so- 
ciety. Jean-Marie  would  find  the  world  at  his  feet; 
the  roads  open  to  success,  wealth,  honour,  and  post- 
humous renown.  * '  And  O,  by  the  way, "  said  he,  '  *  for 
God's  sake  keep  your  tongue  quiet !  You  are,  of  course, 
a  very  silent  fellow ;  it  is  a  quality  1  gladly  recognise  in 
you  —  silence,  golden  silence!  But  this  is  a  matter  of 
gravity.  No  word  must  get  abroad ;  none  but  the  good 
Casimir  is  to  be  trusted ;  we  shall  probably  dispose  of 
the  vessels  in  England." 

**  But  are  they  not  even  ours  ?"  the  boy  said,  almost 
with  a  sob  —  it  was  the  only  time  he  had  spoken. 

•'Ours  in  this  sense,  that  they  are  nobody  else's,"  re- 
plied the  Doctor.  "But  the  State  would  have  some 
claim.  If  they  were  stolen,  for  instance,  we  should  be 
unable  to  demand  their  restitution ;  we  should  have  no 
title;  we  should  be  unable  even  to  communicate  with 
the  police.  Such  is  the  monstrous  condition  of  the  law.^ 
It  is  a  mere  instance  of  what  remains  to  be  done,  of  the 
injustices  that  may  yet  be  righted  by  an  ardent,  active, 
and  philosophical  deputy." 

Jean-Marie  put  his  faith  in  Madame  Desprez;  and  as 
they  drove  forward  down  the  road  from  Bourron,  be- 

1  Let  it  be  so,  for  my  tale! 
245 


THE  TREASURE   OF   FRANCHARD 

tween  the  rustling  poplars,  he  prayed  in  his  teeth,  and 
whipped  up  the  horse  to  an  unusual  speed.  Surely,  as 
soon  as  they  arrived,  madame  would  assert  her  char- 
acter, and  bring  this  waking  nightmare  to  an  end. 

Their  entrance  into  Gretz  was  heralded  and  accom- 
panied by  a  most  furious  barking ;  all  the  dogs  in  the 
village  seemed  to  smell  the  treasure  in  the  noddy.  But 
there  was  no  one  in  the  street,  save  three  lounging  land- 
scape painters  at  Tentaillon's  door.  Jean-Marie  opened 
the  green  gate  and  led  in  the  horse  and  carriage ;  and 
almost  at  the  same  moment  Madame  Desprez  came  to 
the  kitchen  threshold  with  a  lighted  lantern;  for  the 
moon  was  not  yet  high  enough  to  clear  the  garden 
walls. 

"Close  the  gates,  Jean-Marie!"  cried  the  Doctor, 
somewhat  unsteadily  alighting.  ''Anastasie,  where  is 
Aline?" 

*'  She  has  gone  to  Montereau  to  see  her  parents,"  said 
madame. 

"All  is  for  the  best!"  exclaimed  the  Doctor  fer- 
vently. "Here,  quick,  come  near  to  me;  I  do  not 
wish  to  speak  too  loud,"  he  continued.  "  Darling,  we 
are  wealthy! " 

"Wealthy!  "  repeated  the  wife. 

"I  have  found  the  treasure  of  Franchard,"  replied 
her  husband.  "See,  here  are  the  first  fruits;  a  pine- 
a'pple,  a  dress  for  my  ever-beautiful  —  it  will  suit  her  — 
trust  a  husband's,  trust  a  lover's,  taste !  Embrace  me, 
darling!  This  grimy  episode  is  over;  the  butterfly  un- 
folds its  painted  wings.  To-morrow  Casimir  will  come ; 
in  a  week  we  may  be  in  Paris  —  happy  at  last !  You  shall 
have  diamonds.    Jean-Marie,  take  it  out  of  the  boot, 

246 


TREASURE  TROVE 

with  religious  care,  and  bring  it  piece  by  piece  into  the 
dining-room.  We  shall  have  plate  at  table!  Darling, 
hasten  and  prepare  this  turtle;  it  will  be  a  whet  —  it 
will  be  an  addition  to  our  meagre  ordinary.  1  myself 
will  proceed  to  the  cellar.  We  shall  have  a  bottle  of 
that  little  Beaujolais  you  like,  and  finish  with  the  Her- 
mitage; there  are  still  three  bottles  left.  Worthy  wine 
for  a  worthy  occasion." 

"But,  my  husband;  you  put  me  in  a  whirl,"  she 
cried.     "1  do  not  comprehend." 

"The  turtle,  my  adored,  the  turtle! "  cried  the  Doc- 
tor; and  he  pushed  her  towards  the  kitchen,  lantern 
and  all. 

Jean-Marie  stood  dumfounded.  He  had  pictured  to 
himself  a  different  scene  —  a  more  immediate  protest, 
and  his  hope  began  to  dwindle  on  the  spot. 

The  Doctor  was  everywhere,  a  little  doubtful  on  his 
legs,  perhaps,  and  now  and  then  taking  the  wall  with 
his  shoulder;  for  it  was  long  since  he  had  tasted  ab- 
sinthe, and  he  was  even  then  reflecting  that  the  ab- 
sinthe had  been  a  misconception.  Not  that  he  regretted 
excess  on  such  a  glorious  day,  but  he  made  a  mental 
memorandum  to  beware;  he  must  not,  a  second  time, 
become  the  victim  of  a  deleterious  habit.  He  had  his 
wine  out  of  the  cellar  in  a  twinkling;  he  arranged  the 
sacrificial  vessels,  some  on  the  white  tablecloth,  some 
on  the  sideboard,  still  crusted  with  historic  earth.  He 
was  in  and  out  of  the  kitchen,  plying  Anastasie  with 
vermouth,  heating  her  with  glimpses  of  the  future,  es- 
timating their  new  wealth  at  ever  larger  figures;  and 
before  they  sat  down  to  supper,  the  lady's  virtue  had 
melted  in  the  fire  of  his  enthusiasm,  her  timidity  had 

247 


THE  TREASURE  OF   FRANCHARD 

disappeared ;  she,  too,  had  begun  to  speak  disparagingly 
of  the  life  at  Gretz ;  and  as  she  took  her  place  and  helped 
the  soup,  her  eyes  shone  with  the  glitter  of  prospective 
diamonds. 

All  through  the  meal,  she  and  the  Doctor  made  and  un- 
made fairy  plans.  They  bobbed  and  bowed  and  pledged 
each  other.  Their  faces  ran  over  with  smiles;  their 
eyes  scattered  sparkles,  as  they  projected  the  Doctor's 
political  honours  and  the  lady's  drawing-room  ovations. 

"  But  you  will  not  be  a  Red!  "  cried  Anastasie. 

'M  am  Left  Centre  to  the  core,"  replied  the  Doctor. 

"Madame  Gastein  will  present  us  —  we  shall  find 
ourselves  forgotten,"  said  the  lady. 

''Never,"  protested  the  Doctor.  '*  Beauty  and  talent 
leave  a  mark." 

'M  have  positively  forgotten  how  to  dress,"  she 
sighed. 

** Darling,  you  make  me  blush,"  cried  he.  "Yours 
has  been  a  tragic  marriage  1 " 

"But  your  success  —  to  see  you  appreciated,  hon- 
oured, your  name  in  all  the  papers,  that  will  be  more 
than  pleasure  —  it  will  be  heaven!  "  she  cried. 

"And  once  a  week,"  said  the  Doctor,  archly  scan- 
ning the  syllables,  '  *  once  a  week  —  one  good  little  game 
of  baccarat  ?  " 

"Only  once  a  week?"  she  questioned,  threatening 
him  with  a  finger. 

"  I  swear  it  by  my  political  honour,"  cried  he. 

"  I  spoil  you,"  she  said,  and  gave  him  her  hand. 

He  covered  it  with  kisses. 

Jean-Marie  escaped  into  the  night.  The  moon  swung 
high  over  Gretz.    He  went  down  to  the  garden  end  and 

248 


TREASURE  TROVE 

sat  on  the  jetty.  The  river  ran  by  with  eddies  of  oily 
silver,  and  a  low,  monotonous  song.  Faint  veils  of 
mist  moved  among  the  poplars  on  the  farther  side.  The 
reeds  were  quietly  nodding.  A  hundred  times  already 
had  the  boy  sat,  on  such  a  night,  and  watched  the 
streaming  river  with  untroubled  fancy.  And  this  per- 
haps was  to  be  the  last.  He  was  to  leave  this  familiar 
hamlet,  this  green,  rustling  country,  this  bright  and 
quiet  stream ;  he  was  to  pass  into  the  great  city ;  his 
dear  lady  mistress  was  to  move  bedizened  into  saloons ; 
his  good,  garrulous,  kind-hearted  master  to  become  a 
brawling  deputy;  and  both  be  lost  forever  to  Jean-Marie 
and  their  better  selves.  He  knew  his  own  defects;  he 
knew  he  must  sink  into  less  and  less  consideration  in 
the  turmoil  of  a  city  life;  sink  more  and  more  from  the 
child  into  the  servant.  And  he  began  dimly  to  be- 
lieve the  Doctor's  prophecies  of  evil.  He  could  see  a 
change  in  both.  His  generous  incredulity  failed  him 
for  this  once;  a  child  must  have  perceived  that  the 
Hermitage  had  completed  what  the  absinthe  had  be- 
gun. If  this  were  the  first  day,  what  would  be  the 
last?  "If  necessary,  wreck  the  train,"  thought  he, 
remembering  the  Doctor's  parable.  He  looked  round 
on  the  delightful  scene;  he  drank  deep  of  the  charmed 
night  air,  laden  with  the  scent  of  hay.  "If  necessary, 
wreck  the  train,"  he  repeated.  And  he  rose  and  re- 
turned to  the  house. 


Uf^ 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   CRIMINAL   INVESTIGATION,    IN   TWO   PARTS 

The  next  morning  there  was  a  most  unusual  outcry 
in  the  Doctor's  house.  The  last  thing  before  going  to 
bed,  the  Doctor  had  locked  up  some  valuables  in  the 
dining-room  cupboard ;  and  behold,  when  he  rose  again, 
as  he  did  about  four  o'clock,  the  cupboard  had  been 
broken  open,  and  the  valuables  in  question  had  disap- 
peared. Madame  and  Jean-Marie  were  summoned  from 
their  rooms,  and  appeared  in  hasty  toilettes ;  they  found 
the  Doctor  raving,  calling  the  heavens  to  witness  and 
avenge  his  injury,  pacing  the  room  bare-footed,  with 
the  tails  of  his  night-shirt  flirting  as  he  turned. 

*'Gone!"  he  said;  *'the  things  are  gone,  the  fortune 
gone !  We  are  paupers  once  more.  Boy !  what  do  you 
know  of  this  ?  Speak  up,  sir,  speak  up.  Do  you  know 
of  it.?  Where  are  they.?"  He  had  him  by  the  arm, 
shaking  him  like  a  bag,  and  the  boy's  words,  if  he  had 
any,  were  jolted  forth  in  inarticulate  murmurs.  The 
Doctor,  with  a  revulsion  from  his  own  violence,  set  him 
down  again.  He  observed  Anastasie  in  tears.  **  Anas- 
tasie,"  he  said,  in  quite  an  altered  voice,  ''compose 
yourself,  command  your  feelings.  I  would  not  have 
you  give  way  to  passion  like  the  vulgar.  This  —  this 
trifling  accident  must  be  lived  down.    Jean-Marie,  bring 

250 


A   CRIMINAL   INVESTIGATION,  IN   TWO    PARTS 

me  my  smaller  medicine  chest.  A  gentle  laxative  is 
indicated." 

And  he  dosed  the  family  all  round,  leading  the  way 
himself  with  a  double  quantity.  The  wretched  Anas- 
tasie,  who  had  never  been  ill  in  the  whole  course  of  her 
existence,  and  whose  soul  recoiled  from  remedies,  wept 
floods  of  tears  as  she  sipped,  and  shuddered,  and  pro- 
tested, and  then  was  bullied  and  shouted  at  until  she 
sipped  again.  As  for  Jean-Marie,  he  took  his  portion 
down  with  stoicism. 

"I  have  given  him  a  less  amount,"  observed  the  Doc- 
tor, "his  youth  protecting  him  against  emotion.  And 
now  that  we  have  thus  parried  any  morbid  consequences, 
let  us  reason." 

**\  am  so  cold,"  wailed  Anastasie. 

**Cold!"  cried  the  Doctor.  "1  give  thanks  to  God 
that  I  am  made  of  fierier  material.  Why,  madame,  a 
blow  like  this  would  set  a  frog  into  a  transpiration.  If 
you  are  cold,  you  can  retire;  and,  by  the  way,  you 
might  throw  me  down  my  trousers.  It  is  chilly  for  the 
legs." 

"Oh,  no!"  protested  Anastasie;  "1  will  stay  with 
you." 

"Nay,  madame,  you  shall  not  suffer  for  your  devo- 
tion," said  the  Doctor.  "I  will  myself  fetch  you  a 
shawl."  And  he  went  upstairs  and  returned  more  fully 
clad  and  with  an  armful  of  wraps  for  the  shivering 
Anastasie.  "And  now,"  he  resumed,  "to  investigate 
this  crime.  Let  us  proceed  by  induction.  Anastasie, 
do  you  know  anything  that  can  help  us  ?  "  Anastasie 
knew  nothing.     "  Or  you,  Jean-Marie  ?  " 

"Not  1,"  replied  the  boy  steadily. 

251 


THE  TREASURE  OF   FRANCHARD 

"  Good,"  returned  the  Doctor.  *'  We  shall  now  turn 
our  attention  to  the  material  evidences.  (I  was  born  to 
be  a  detective;  I  have  the  eye  and  the  systematic  spirit.) 
First,  violence  has  been  employed.  The  door  was 
broken  open ;  and  it  may  be  observed,  in  passing,  that 
the  lock  was  dear  indeed  at  what  I  paid  for  it :  a  crow 
to  pluck  with  Master  Goguelat.  Second,  here  is  the  in- 
strument employed,  one  of  our  own  table-knives,  one 
of  our  best,  my  dear;  which  seems  to  indicate  no  pre- 
paration on  the  part  of  the  gang  —  if  gang  it  was. 
Thirdly,  I  observe  that  nothing  has  been  removed  ex- 
cept the  Franchard  dishes  and  the  casket;  our  own 
silver  has  been  minutely  respected.  This  is  wily;  it 
shows  intelligence,  a  knowledge  of  the  code,  a  desire  to 
avoid  legal  consequences.  1  argue  from  this  fact  that 
the  gang  numbers  persons  of  respectability  —  outward, 
of  course,  and  merely  outward,  as  the  robbery  proves. 
But  I  argue,  second,  that  we  must  have  been  observed 
at  Franchard  itself  by  some  occult  observer,  and  dogged 
throughout  the  day  with  a  skill  and  patience  that  1  ven- 
ture to  qualify  as  consummate.  No  ordinary  man,  no 
occasional  criminal,  would  have  shown  himself  capable 
of  this  combination.  We  have  in  our  neighbourhood, 
it  is  far  from  improbable,  a  retired  bandit  of  the  highest 
order  of  intelligence." 

*'Good  heaven!"  cried  the  horrified  Anastasie. 
"  Henri,  how  can  you!  " 

*'My  cherished  one,  this  is  a  process  of  induction," 
said  the  Doctor.  '*  If  any  of  my  steps  are  unsound,  cor- 
rect me.  You  are  silent.?  Then  do  not,  I  beseech  you, 
be  so  vulgarly  illogical  as  to  revolt  from  my  conclusion. 
We  have  now  arrived,"  he  resumed,  "at  some  idea  of 

252 


A  CRIMINAL  INVESTIGATION,  IN  TWO   PARTS 

the  composition  of  the  gang — for  I  incline  to  the  hy- 
pothesis of  more  than  one  —  and  we  now  leave  this 
room,  which  can  disclose  no  more,  and  turn  our  atten- 
tion to  the  court  and  garden.  (Jean-Marie,  I  trust  you 
are  observantly  following  my  various  steps ;  this  is  an 
excellent  piece  of  education  for  you. )  Come  with  me  to 
the  door.  No  steps  on  the  court;  it  is  unfortunate  our 
court  should  be  paved.  On  what  small  matters  hangs 
the  destiny  of  these  delicate  investigations!  Hey!  What 
have  we  here  ?  I  have  led  you  to  the  very  spot, "  he  said, 
standing  grandly  backward  and  indicating  the  green 
gate.  *  *  An  escalade,  as  you  can  now  see  for  your- 
selves, has  taken  place." 

Sure  enough,  the  green  paint  was  in  several  places 
scratched  and  broken ;  and  one  of  the  panels  preserved 
the  print  of  a  nailed  shoe.  The  foot  had  slipped,  how- 
ever, and  it  was  difficult  to  estimate  the  size  of  the  shoe, 
and  impossible  to  distinguish  the  pattern  of  the  nails. 

"The  whole  robbery,"  concluded  the  Doctor,  "step 
by  step,  has  been  reconstituted.  Inductive  science  can 
no  further  go." 

"It  is  wonderful,"  said  his  wife.  "You  should  in- 
deed have  been  a  detective,  Henri.  I  had  no  idea  of 
your  talents." 

"My  dear,"  replied  Desprez,  condescendingly,  "a 
man  of  scientific  imagination  combines  the  lesser  facul- 
ties; he  is  a  detective  just  as  he  is  a  publicist  or  a  gen- 
eral; these  are  but  local  applications  of  his  special  talent. 
But  now,"  he  continued,  "would  you  have  me  go  fur- 
ther ?  Would  you  have  me  lay  my  finger  on  the  cul- 
prits —  or  rather,  for  I  cannot  promise  quite  so  much, 
point  out  to  you  the  very  house  where  they  consort  ? 

253 


THE  TREASURE   OF   FRANCHARD 

It  may  be  a  satisfaction,  at  least  it  is  all  we  are  likely  to 
get,  since  we  are  denied  the  remedy  of  law.  I  reach 
the  further  stage  in  this  way.  In  order  to  fill  my  out- 
line of  the  robbery,  I  require  a  man  likely  to  be  in  the 
forest  idling,  1  require  a  man  of  education,  I  require  a 
man  superior  to  considerations  of  morality.  The  three 
requisites  all  centre  in  Tentaillon's  boarders.  They  are 
painters,  therefore  they  are  continually  lounging  in  the 
forest.  They  are  painters,  therefore  they  are  not  un- 
likely to  have  some  smattering  of  education.  Lastly, 
because  they  are  painters,  they  are  probably  immoral. 
And  this  I  prove  in  two  ways.  First,  painting  is  an 
art  which  merely  addresses  the  eye ;  it  does  not  in  any 
particular  exercise  the  moral  sense.  And  second,  paint- 
ing, in  common  with  all  the  other  arts,  implies  the  dan- 
gerous quality  of  imagination.  A  man  of  imagination 
is  never  moral;  he  outsoars  literal  demarcations  and  re- 
views life  under  too  many  shifting  lights  to  rest  content 
with  the  invidious  distinctions  of  the  law!  " 

**  But  you  always  say  —  at  least,  so  I  understood  you  " 
— said  madame,  ''that  these  lads  display  no  imagination 
whatever." 

"My  dear,  they  displayed  imagination,  and  of  a  very 
fantastic  order,  too,"  returned  the  Doctor,  ''when  they 
embraced  their  beggarly  profession.  Besides  —  and  this 
is  an  argument  exactly  suited  to  your  intellectual  level 
—  many  of  them  are  English  and  American.  Where 
else  should  we  expect  to  find  a  thief.?*  —  And  now  you 
had  better  get  your  coffee.  Because  we  have  lost  a 
treasure,  there  is  no  reason  for  starving.  For  my  part, 
1  shall  break  my  fast  with  white  wine.  I  feel  unaccount- 
ably heated  and  thirsty  to-day.     I  can  only  attribute  it  to 

254 


A   CRIMINAL   INVESTIGATION,  IN   TWO    PARTS 

the  shock  of  the  discovery.  And  yet,  you  will  bear  me 
out,  I  supported  the  emotion  nobly." 

The  Doctor  had  now  talked  himself  back  into  an  ad- 
mirable humour;  and  as  he  sat  in  the  arbour  and  slowly 
imbibed  a  large  allowance  of  white  wine  and  picked  a 
little  bread  and  cheese  with  no  very  impetuous  appetite, 
if  a  third  of  his  meditations  ran  upon  the  missing  trea- 
sure, the  other  two-thirds  were  more  pleasingly  busied 
in  the  retrospect  of  his  detective  skill. 

About  eleven  Casimir  arrived ;  he  had  caught  an  early 
train  to  Fontainebleau,  and  driven  over  to  save  time; 
and  now  his  cab  was  stabled  at  Tentaillon's,  and  he 
remarked,  studying  his  watch,  that  he  could  spare 
an  hour  and  a  half.  He  was  much  the  man  of  business, 
decisively  spoken,  given  to  frowning  in  an  intellectual 
manner.  Anastasie's  born  brother,  he  did  not  waste 
much  sentiment  on  the  lady,  gave  her  an  English  family 
kiss,  and  demanded  a  meal  without  delay. 

'*  You  can  tell  me  your  story  while  we  eat,"  he  ob- 
served.    ''Anything  good  to-day,  Stasie  }  " 

He  was  promised  something  good.  The  trio  sat 
down  to  table  in  the  arbour,  Jean-Marie  waiting  as  well 
as  eating,  and  the  Doctor  recounted  what  had  happened 
in  his  richest  narrative  manner.  Casimir  heard  it  with 
explosions  of  laughter. 

"What  a  streak  of  luck  for  you,  my  good  brother," 
he  observed,  when  the  tale  was  over.  "If  you  had 
gone  to  Paris,  you  would  have  played  dick-duck-drake 
with  the  whole  consignment  in  three  months.  Your 
own  would  have  followed ;  and  you  would  have  come  to 
me  in  a  procession  like  the  last  time.  But  1  give  you 
warning  —  Stasie  may  weep  and  Henri  ratiocinate  —  it 


THE  TREASURE   OF   FRANCHARD 

will  not  serve  you  twice.  Your  next  collapse  will  be 
fatal.  I  thought  1  had  told  you  so,  Stasie  ?  Hey  ?  No 
sense  ? " 

The  Doctor  winced  and  looked  furtively  at  Jean- 
Marie  ;  but  the  boy  seemed  apathetic. 

"And  then  again,"  broke  out  Casimir,  ''what  chil- 
dren you  are  —  vicious  children,  my  faith !  How  could 
you  tell  the  value  of  this  trash  ?  It  might  have  been 
worth  nothing,  or  next  door." 

''Pardon  me,"  said  the  Doctor.  "You  have  your 
usual  flow  of  spirits,  I  perceive,  but  even  less  than  your 
usual  deliberation.  I  am  not  entirely  ignorant  of  these 
matters." 

"Not  entirely  ignorant  of  anything  ever  I  heard  of," 
interrupted  Casimir,  bowing,  and  raising  his  glass  with 
a  sort  of  pert  politeness. 

"At  least,"  resumed  the  Doctor,  "1  gave  my  mind 
to  the  subject  —  that  you  may  be  willing  to  believe  — 
and  I  estimated  that  our  capital  would  be  doubled." 
And  he  described  the  nature  of  the  find. 

"My  word  of  honour!"  said  Casimir,  "I  half  believe 
you!  But  much  would  depend  on  the  quality  of  the 
gold." 

' '  The  quality,  my  dear  Casimir,  was "     And  the 

Doctor,  in  default  of  language,  kissed  his  finger-tips. 

"I  would  not  take  your  word  for  it,  my  good  friend," 
retorted  the  man  of  business.  "You  are  a  man  of  very 
rosy  views.  But  this  robbery,"  he  continued — "this 
robbery  is  an  odd  thing.  Of  course  I  pass  over  your  non- 
sense about  gangs  and  landscape-painters.  For  me,  that 
is  a  dream.     Who  was  in  the  house  last  night?" 

"None  but  ourselves,"  replied  the  Doctor. 
256 


A   CRIMINAL   INVESTIGATION,  IN   TWO   PARTS 

"And  this  young  gentleman ?"  asked  Casimir,  jerk- 
ing a  nod  in  the  direction  of  Jean-Marie. 

"  He  too  "  —  the  Doctor  bowed. 

"Well;  and  if  it  is  a  fair  question,  who  is  he?"  pur- 
sued the  brother-in-law. 

"Jean-Marie,"  answered  the  Doctor,  "combines  the 
functions  of  a  son  and  stable-boy.  He  began  as  the 
latter,  but  he  rose  rapidly  to  the  more  honourable  rank 
in  our  affections.  He  is,  I  may  say,  the  greatest  com- 
fort in  our  lives." 

"Ha!"  said  Casimir.  "And  previous  to  becoming 
one  of  you?" 

"Jean-Marie  has  lived  a  remarkable  existence;  his  ex- 
perience has  been  eminently  formative,"  replied  Desprez. 
"If  1  had  to  choose  an  education  for  my  son,  I  should 
have  chosen  such  another.  Beginning  life  with  moun- 
tebanks and  thieves,  passing  onward  to  the  society  and 
friendship  of  philosophers,  he  may  be  said  to  have 
skimmed  the  volume  of  human  life." 

"Thieves?"  repeated  the  brother-in-law,  with  a 
meditative  air. 

The  Doctor  could  have  bitten  his  tongue  out.  He 
foresaw  what  was  coming,  and  prepared  his  mind  for  a 
vigorous  defence. 

"Did  you  ever  steal  yourself?"  asked  Casimir,  turn- 
ing suddenly  on  Jean-Marie,  and  for  the  first  time  em- 
ploying a  single  eyeglass  which  hung  round  his  neck. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  boy,  with  a  deep  blush. 
Casimir  turned  to  the  others  with  pursed  lips,  and  nodded 
to  them  meaningly.    "Hey?"  said  he;  "how  is  that?" 

"Jean-Marie  is  a  teller  of  the  truth,"  returned  the 
Doctor,  throwing  out  his  bust. 

257 


THE  TREASURE  OF   FRANCHARD 

*'  He  has  never  told  a  lie,"  added  madame.  "  He  is 
the  best  of  boys." 

'* Never  told  a  lie,  has  he  not?"  reflected  Casimir. 
**  Strange,  very  strange.  Give  me  your  attention,  my 
young  friend,"  he  continued.  *' You  knew  about  this 
treasure  ?  " 

"He  helped  to  bring  it  home,"  interposed  the  Doc- 
tor. 

'  *  Desprez,  I  ask  you  nothing  but  to  hold  your  tongue, " 
returned  Casimir.  "I  mean  to  question  this  stable-boy 
of  yours;  and  if  you  are  so  certain  of  his  innocence,  you 
can  afford  to  let  him  answer  for  himself.  Now,  sir," 
he  resumed,  pointing  his  eyeglass  straight  at  Jean-Marie. 
**You  knew  it  could  be  stolen  with  impunity.^  You 
knew  you  could  not  be  prosecuted  ?  Come !  Did  you, 
or  did  you  not.^" 

*'l  did,"  answered  Jean-Marie,  in  a  miserable  whis- 
per. He  sat  there  changing  colour  like  a  revolving 
pharos,  twisting  his  fingers  hysterically,  swallowing  air, 
the  picture  of  guilt. 

"You  knew  where  it  was  put.^"  resumed  the  in- 
quisitor. 

"  Yes,"  from  Jean-Marie. 

"You  say  you  have  been  a  thief  before,"  continued 
Casimir.  "Now  how  am  I  to  know  that  you  are  not 
one  still  ?    1  suppose  you  could  climb  the  green  gate  .^" 

"Yes,"  still  lower,  from  the  culprit. 

* '  Well,  then,  it  was  you  who  stole  these  things.  You 
know  it,  and  you  dare  not  deny  it.  Look  me  in  the 
face!     Raise  your  sneak's  eyes,  and  answer!  " 

But  in  place  of  anything  of  that  sort  Jean-Marie  broke 
into  a  dismal  howl  and  fled  from  the  arbour.    Anastasie, 

258 


A   CRIMINAL   INVESTIGATION,  IN   TWO   PARTS 

as  she  pursued  to  capture  and  reassure  the  victim,  found 
time  to  send  one  Parthian  arrow  —  "  Casimir,  you  are  a 
brute!" 

"My  brother,"  said  Desprez,  with  the  greatest  dig- 
nity, **you  take  upon  yourself  a  license " 

"Desprez,"  interrupted  Casimir,  "for  Heaven's  sake 
be  a  man  of  the  world.  You  telegraph  me  to  leave 
my  business  and  come  down  here  on  yours.  I  come, 
1  ask  the  business,  you  say  'Find  me  this  thief!' 
Well,  I  find  him;  I  say  'There  he  is!'  You  need 
not  like  it,  but  you  have  no  manner  of  right  to  take 
offence." 

"Well,"  returned  the  Doctor,  "1  grant  that;  I  will 
even  thank  you  for  your  mistaken  zeal.  But  your  hy- 
pothesis was  so  extravagantly  monstrous " 

"Look  here,"  interrupted  Casimir;  "was  it  you  or 
Stasie  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  answered  the  Doctor. 

"Very  well;  then  it  was  the  boy.  Say  no  more 
about  it,"  said  the  brother-in-law,  and  he  produced  his 
cigar-case. 

"  I  will  say  this  much  more,"  returned  Desprez:  "  if 
that  boy  came  and  told  me  so  himself,  1  should  not  be- 
lieve him;  and  if  1  did  believe  him,  so  implicit  is  my 
trust,  I  should  conclude  that  he  had  acted  for  the  best." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Casimir,  indulgently.  "Have 
you  a  light  ?  1  must  be  going.  And  by  the  way,  I 
wish  you  would  let  me  sell  your  Turks  for  you.  I  al- 
ways told  you,  it  meant  smash.  I  tell  you  so  again. 
Indeed,  it  was  partly  that  that  brought  me  down.  You 
never  acknowledged  my  letters  —  a  most  unpardonable 
habit." 

259 


THE  TREASURE  OF  FRANCHARD 

*'My  good  brother,"  replied  the  Doctor  blandly,  "I 
have  never  denied  your  ability  in  business ;  but  I  can 
perceive  your  limitations." 

*'Egad,  my  friend,  I  can  return  the  compliment,"  ob- 
served the  man  of  business.  "  Your  limitation  is  to  be 
downright  irrational." 

''Observe  the  relative  position,"  returned  the  Doctor 
with  a  smile.  "It  is  your  attitude  to  believe  through 
thick  and  thin  in  one  man's  judgment  —  your  own.  I 
follow  the  same  opinion,  but  critically  and  with  open 
eyes.  Which  is  the  more  irrational.?  —  I  leave  it  to 
yourself." 

"O,  my  dear  fellow!"  cried  Casimir,  "stick  to  your 
Turks,  stick  to  your  stable-boy,  go  to  the  devil  in  gen- 
eral in  your  own  way  and  be  done  with  it.  But  don't 
ratiocinate  with  me  —  I  cannot  bear  it.  And  so,  ta-ta. 
1  might  as  well  have  stayed  away  for  any  good  I  've 
done.  Say  good-by  from  me  to  Stasie,  and  to  the  sul- 
len hang-dog  of  a  stable-boy,  if  you  insist  on  it ;  J  'm  off. " 

And  Casimir  departed.  The  Doctor,  that  night,  dis- 
sected his  character  before  Anastasie.  "  One  thing,  my 
beautiful,"  he  said,  "he  has  learned  one  thing  from  his 
lifelong  acquaintance  with  your  husband :  the  word  ra- 
tiocinate. It  shines  in  his  vocabulary,  like  a  jewel  in 
a  muck-heap.  And,  even  so,  he  continually  misapplies 
it.  For  you  must  have  observed  he  uses  it  as  a  sort  of 
taunt,  in  the  case  of  to  ergotise,  implying,  as  it  were  — 
the  poor,  dear  fellow! — a  vein  of  sophistry.  As  for  his 
cruelty  to  Jean-Marie,  it  must  be  forgiven  him  —  it  is  not 
his  nature,  it  is  the  nature  of  his  life.  A  man  who  deals 
with  money,  my  dear,  is  a  man  lost." 

With  Jean-Marie  the  process  of  reconciliation  had 
260 


A   CRIMINAL  INVESTIGATION,  IN   TWO   PARTS 

been  somewhat  slow.  At  first  he  was  inconsolable, 
insisted  on  leaving  the  family,  went  from  paroxysm  to 
paroxysm  of  tears;  and  it  was  only  after  Anastasie  had 
been  closeted  for  an  hour  with  him,  alone,  that  she 
came  forth,  sought  out  the  Doctor,  and,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  acquainted  that  gentleman  with  what  had 
passed. 

**  At  first,  my  husband,  he  would  hear  of  nothing," 
she  said.  * 'Imagine!  if  he  had  left  us!  what  would  the 
treasure  be  to  that  ?  Horrible  treasure,  it  has  brought 
all  this  about!  At  last,  after  he  has  sobbed  his  very 
heart  out,  he  agrees  to  stay  on  a  condition  —  we  are 
not  to  mention  this  matter,  this  infamous  suspicion,  not 
even  to  mention  the  robbery.  On  that  agreement  only, 
the  poor,  cruel  boy  will  consent  to  remain  among  his 
friends." 

*'  But  this  inhibition,"  said  the  Doctor,  "this  embargo 
—  it  cannot  possibly  apply  to  me.^" 

"To  all  of  us,"  Anastasie  assured  him. 

"My  cherished  one,"  Deprez  protested,  "you  must 
have  misunderstood.  It  cannot  apply  to  me.  He  would 
naturally  come  to  me." 

"Henri,"  she  said,  "it  does;  I  swear  to  you  it  does." 

"This  is  a  painful,  a  very  painful  circumstance,"  the 
Doctor  said,  looking  a  little  black.  "I  cannot  affect, 
.Anastasie,  to  be  anything  but  justly  wounded.  I  feel 
this,  I  feel  it,  my  wife,  acutely." 

"I  knew  you  would,"  she  said.  "But  if  you  had 
seen  his  distress !  We  must  make  allowances,  we  must 
sacrifice  our  feelings." 

"  I  trust,  my  dear,  you  have  never  found  me  averse 
to  sacrifices,"  returned  the  Doctor  very  stiffly. 

261 


THE  TREASURE   OF   FRANCHARD 

"  And  you  will  let  me  go  and  tell  him  that  you  have 
agreed?    It  will  be  like  your  noble  nature,"  she  cried. 

So  it  would,  he  perceived  —  it  would  be  like  his 
noble  nature!  Up  jumped  his  spirits,  triumphant  at 
the  thought.  *'Go,  darling,"  he  said  nobly,  ''reassure 
him.  The  subject  is  buried;  more — I  make  an  effort, 
I  have  accustomed  my  will  to  these  exertions — and  it  is 
forgotten." 

A  little  after,  but  still  with  swollen  eyes  and  looking 
mortally  sheepish,  Jean-Marie  reappeared  and  went  os- 
tentatiously about  his  business.  He  was  the  only  un- 
happy member  of  the  party  that  sat  down  that  night  to 
supper.  As  for  the  Doctor,  he  was  radiant.  He  thus 
sang  the  requiem  of  the  treasure :  — 

"This  has  been,  on  the  whole,  a  most  amusing  epi- 
sode," he  said.  *'We  are  not  a  penny  the  worse — nay, 
we  are  immensely  gainers.  Our  philosophy  has  been 
exercised;  some  of  the  turtle  is  still  left  —  the  most 
wholesome  of  delicacies ;  1  have  my  staff,  Anastasie  has 
her  new  dress,  Jean-Marie  is  the  proud  possessor  of  a 
fashionable  kepi.  Besides,  we  had  a  glass  of  Hermitage 
last  night;  the  glow  still  suffuses  my  memory.  I  was 
growing  positively  niggardly  with  that  Hermitage,  posi- 
tively niggardly.  Let  me  take  the  hint:  we  had  one 
bottle  to  celebrate  the  appearance  of  our  visionary 
fortune ;  let  us  have  a  second  to  console  us  for  its  oc- 
cupation. The  third  I  hereby  dedicate  to  Jean-Marie's 
wedding  breakfast." 


262 . 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE    FALL   OF   THE    HOUSE   OF    DESPREZ 

The  Doctor's  house  has  not  yet  received  the  compli- 
ment of  a  description,  and  it  is  now  high  time  that  the 
omission  were  supplied,  for  the  house  is  itself  an  actor 
in  the  story,  and  one  whose  part  is  nearly  at  an  end. 
Two  stories  in  height,  walls  of  a  warm  yellow,  tiles  of 
an  ancient  ruddy  brown  diversified  with  moss  and 
lichen,  it  stood  with  one  wall  to  the  street  in  the  angle 
of  the  Doctor's  property.  It  was  roomy,  draughty,  and 
inconvenient.  The  large  rafters  were  here  and  there 
engraven  with  rude  marks  and  patterns;  the  hand-rail 
of  the  stair  was  carved  in  countrified  arabesque ;  a  stout 
timber  pillar,  which  did  duty  to  support  the  dining- 
room  roof,  bore  mysterious  characters  on  its  darker  side, 
runes,  according  to  the  Doctor;  nor  did  he  fail,  when  he 
ran  over  the  legendary  history  of  the  house  and  its  pos- 
sessors, to  dwell  upon  the  Scandinavian  scholar  who  had 
left  them.  Floors,  doors,  and  rafters  made  a  great  va- 
riety of  angles ;  every  room  had  a  particular  inclination ; 
the  gable  had  tilted  towards  the  garden,  after  the  man- 
ner of  a  leaning  tower,  and  one  of  the  former  proprie- 
tors had  buttressed  the  building  from  that  side  with  a 
great  strut  of  wood,  like  the  derrick  of  a  crane.  Al- 
together, it  had  many  marks  of  ruin ;  it  was  a  house  for 

26^ 


THE  TREASURE  OF   FRANCHARD 

the  rats  to  desert ;  and  nothing  but  its  excellent  bright- 
ness—  the  window-glass  polished  and  shining,  the  paint 
well  scoured,  the  brasses  radiant,  the  very  prop  all 
wreathed  about  with  climbing  flowers  —  nothing  but  its 
air  of  a  well-tended,  smiling  veteran,  sitting,  crutch  and 
all,  in  the  sunny  corner  of  a  garden,  marked  it  as  a 
house  for  comfortable  people  to  inhabit.  In  poor  or  idle 
management  it  would  soon  have  hurried  into  the  black- 
guard stages  of  decay.  As  it  was,  the  whole  family 
loved  it,  and  the  Doctor  was  never  better  inspired  than 
when  he  narrated  its  imaginary  story  and  drew  the 
character  of  its  successive  masters,  from  the  Hebrew 
merchant  who  had  re-edified  its  walls  after  the  sack  of 
the  town,  and  past  the  mysterious  engraver  of  the  runes, 
down  to  the  long-headed,  dirty-handed  boor  from  whom 
he  had  himself  acquired  it  at  a  ruinous  expense.  As  for 
any  alarm  about  its  security,  the  idea  had  never  pre- 
sented itself  What  had  stood  four  centuries  might  well 
endure  a  little  longer. 

Indeed,  in  this  particular  winter,  after  the  finding  and 
losing  of  the  treasure,  the  Desprez'  had  an  anxiety  of  a 
very  different  order,  and  one  which  lay  nearer  their  hearts. 
Jean-Marie  was  plainly  not  himself  He  had  fits  of  hectic 
activity,  when  he  made  unusual  exertions  to  please, 
spoke  more  and  faster,  and  redoubled  in  attention  to  his 
lessons.  But  these  were  interrupted  by  spells  of  mel- 
ancholia and  brooding  silence,  when  the  boy  was  little 
better  than  unbearable. 

** Silence,"  the  Doctor  moralised — "you  see,  Anas- 
tasie,  what  comes  of  silence.  Had  the  boy  properly  un- 
bosomed himself,  the  little  disappointment  about  the 
treasure,  the  little  annoyance  about  Casimir's  incivility, 

264 


THE  FALL  OF  THE   HOUSE  OF  DESPREZ 

would  long  ago  have  been  forgotten.  As  it  is,  they 
prey  upon  him  like  a  disease.  He  loses  flesh,  his  appe- 
tite is  variable,  and,  on  the  whole,  impaired.  I  keep 
him  on  the  strictest  regimen,  I  exhibit  the  most  power- 
ful tonics;  both  in  vain." 

**  Don't  you  think  you  drug  him  too  much  ?"  asked 
madame,  with  an  irrepressible  shudder. 

"Drug?"  cried  the  Doctor;  "1  drug.^  Anastasie, 
you  are  mad! " 

Time  went  on,  and  the  boy's  health  still  slowly  de- 
clined. The  Doctor  blamed  the  weather,  which  was 
cold  and  boisterous.  He  called  in  his  confrere  from 
Bourron,  took  a  fancy  for  him,  magnified  his  capacity, 
and  was  pretty  soon  under  treatment  himself —  it  scarcely 
appeared  for  what  complaint.  He  and  Jean-Marie  had 
each  medicine  to  take  at  different  periods  of  the  day. 
The  Doctor  used  to  lie  in  wait  for  the  exact  moment, 
watch  in  hand.  "  There  is  nothing  like  regularity,"  he 
would  say,  fill  out  the  doses,  and  dilate  on  the  virtues  of 
the  draught;  and  if  the  boy  seemed  none  the  better, 
the  Doctor  was  not  at  all  the  worse. 

Gunpowder  Day,  the  boy  was  particularly  low.  It 
was  scowling,  squally  weather.  Huge  broken  companies 
of  cloud  sailed  swiftly  overhead ;  raking  gleams  of  sun- 
light swept  the  village,  and  were  followed  by  intervals 
of  darkness  and  white,  flying  rain.  At  times  the  wind 
lifted  up  its  voice  and  bellowed.  The  trees  were  all 
scourging  themselves  along  the  meadows,  the  last  leaves 
flying  like  dust. 

The  Doctor,  between  the  boy  and  the  weather,  was  in 
his  element;  he  had  a  theory  to  prove.  He  sat  with  his 
watch  out  and  a  barometer  in  front  of  him,  waiting  for 

265 


THE  TREASURE  OF  FRANCHARD 

the  squalls  and  noting  their  effect  upon  the  human 
pulse.  "For  the  true  philosopher,"  he  remarked  de- 
lightedly, "every  fact  in  nature  is  a  toy."  A  letter 
came  to  him ;  but,  as  its  arrival  coincided  with  the  ap- 
proach of  another  gust,  he  merely  crammed  it  into  his 
pocket,  gave  the  time  to  Jean-Marie,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment they  were  both  counting  their  pulses  as  if  for  a 
wager. 

At  nightfall  the  wind  rose  into  a  tempest.  It  besieged 
the  hamlet,  apparently  from  every  side,  as  if  with  bat- 
teries of  cannon ;  the  houses  shook  and  groaned ;  live 
coals  were  blown  upon  the  floor.  The  uproar  and  ter- 
ror of  the  night  kept  people  long  awake,  sitting  with 
pallid  faces  giving  ear. 

It  was  twelve  before  the  Desprez  family  retired.  By 
half-past  one,  when  the  storm  was  already  somewhat 
past  its  height,  the  Doctor  was  awakened  from  a 
troubled  slumber,  and  sat  up.  A  noise  still  rang  in  his 
ears,  but  whether  of  this  world  or  the  world  of  dreams 
he  was  not  certain.  Another  clap  of  wind  followed. 
It  was  accompanied  by  a  sickening  movement  of  the 
whole  house,  and  in  the  subsequent  lull  Desprez  could 
hear  the  tiles  pouring  like  a  cataract  into  the  loft  above 
his  head.     He  plucked  Anastasie  bodily  out  of  bed. 

"Run!"  he  cried,  thrusting  some  wearing  apparel 
into  her  hands;  "the  house  is  falling!  To  the  gar- 
den!" 

She  did  not  pause  to  be  twice  bidden ;  she  was  down 
the  stair  in  an  instant.  She  had  never  before  suspected 
herself  of  such  activity.  The  Doctor  meanwhile,  with 
the  speed  of  a  piece  of  pantomime  business,  and  unde- 
terred by  broken  shins,  proceeded  to  rout  out  Jean- 

266 


THE   FALL  OF  THE   HOUSE  OF   DESPREZ 

Marie,  tore  Aline  from  her  virgin  slumbers,  seized  her 
by  the  hand,  and  tumbled  downstairs  and  into  the  gar- 
den, with  the  girl  tumbling  behind  him,  still  not  half- 
awake. 

The  fugitives  rendezvous'd  in  the  arbour  by  some  com- 
mon instinct.  Then  came  a  bull's-eye  flash  of  struggling 
moonshine,  which  disclosed  their  four  figures  standing 
huddled  from  the  wind  in  a  raffle  of  flying  drapery,  and 
not  without  a  considerable  need  for  more.  At  the  humil- 
iating spectacle  Anastasie  clutched  her  nightdress  des- 
perately about  her  and  burst  loudly  into  tears.  The 
Doctor  flew  to  console  her;  but  she  elbowed  him  away. 
She  suspected  everybody  of  being  the  general  public, 
and  thought  the  darkness  was  alive  with  eyes. 

Another  gleam  and  another  violent  gust  arrived  to- 
gether; the  house  was  seen  to  rock  on  its  foundation, 
and,  just  as  the  light  was  once  more  eclipsed,  a  crash 
which  triumphed  over  the  shouting  of  the  wind  an- 
nounced its  fall,  and  for  a  moment  the  whole  garden 
was  alive  with  skipping  tiles  and  brickbats.  One  such 
missile  grazed  the  Doctor's  ear;  another  descended  on 
the  bare  foot  of  Aline,  who  instantly  made  night  hid- 
eous with  her  shrieks. 

By  this  time  the  hamlet  was  alarmed,  lights  flashed 
from  the  windows,  hails  reached  the  party,  and  the 
Doctor  answered,  nobly  contending  against  Aline  and 
the  tempest.  But  this  prospect  of  help  only  awakened 
Anastasie  to  a  more  active  stage  of  terror. 

"  Henri,  people  will  be  coming,"  she  screamed  in  her 
husband's  ear. 

*M  trust  so,"  he  replied. 

"They  cannot.     I  would  rather  die,"  she  wailed. 
267 


THE  TREASURE  OF   FRANCHARD 

''My  dear,"  said  the  Doctor  reprovingly,  "you  are 
excited.  I  gave  you  some  clothes.  What  have  you 
done  with  them  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  —  I  must  have  thrown  them 
away !     Where  are  they  ?  "  she  sobbed. 

Desprez  groped  about  in  the  darkness.  "Admirable !  " 
he  remarked;  " my  grey  velveteen  trousers!  This  will 
exactly  meet  your  necessities." 

"Give  them  to  me!  "  she  cried  fiercely;  but  as  soon 
as  she  had  them  in  her  hands  her  mood  appeared  to 
alter  —  she  stood  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  pressed 
the  garment  back  upon  the  Doctor.  ' '  Give  it  to  Aline, " 
she  said — "poor  girl." 

"Nonsense!"  said  the  Doctor.  "Aline  does  not 
know  what  she  is  about.  Aline  is  beside  herself  with 
terror;  and  at  any  rate,  she  is  a  peasant.  Now  I  am 
really  concerned  at  this  exposure  for  a  person  of  your 
housekeeping  habits ;  my  solicitude  and  your  fantastic 
modesty  both  point  to  the  same  remedy  —  the  panta- 
loons."    He  held  them  ready. 

"  It  is  impossible.  You  do  not  understand,"  she  said 
with  dignity. 

By  this  time  rescue  was  at  hand.  It  had  been  found 
impracticable  to  enter  by  the  street,  for  the  gate  was 
blocked  with  masonry,  and  the  nodding  ruin  still  threat- 
ened further  avalanches.  But  between  the  Doctor's  gar- 
den and  the  one  on  the  right  hand  there  was  that  very 
picturesque  contrivance —  a  common  well;  the  door  on 
the  Desprez'  side  had  chanced  to  be  unbolted,  and  now, 
through  the  arched  aperture  a  man's  bearded  face  and 
an  arm  supporting  a  lantern  were  introduced  into  the 
world  of  windy  darkness,  where  Anastasie  concealed 

268 


THE   FALL  OF  THE   HOUSE   OF   DESPREZ 

her  woes.  The  light  struck  here  and  there  among  the 
tossing  apple  boughs,  it  glinted  on  the  grass;  but 
the  lantern  and  the  glowing  face  became  the  centre  of 
the  world.  Anastasie  crouched  back  from  the  intrusion. 

"This  way!"  shouted  the  man.    * 'Are  you  all  safe  .^  " 

Aline,  still  screaming,  ran  to  the  new  comer,  and  was 
presently  hauled  head-foremost  through  the  wall. 

"Now,  Anastasie,  come  on;  it  is  your  turn,"  said 
the  husband. 

"I  cannot,"  she  replied. 

"Are  we  all  to  die  of  exposure,  madame?"  thun- 
dered Doctor  Desprez. 

"You  can  go!"  she  cried.  "Oh,  go,  go  away!  I 
can  stay  here;  I  am  quite  warm." 

The  Doctor  took  her  by  the  shoulders  with  an  oath. 

"Stop!"  she  screamed.     "  I  will  put  them  on." 

She  took  the  detested  lendings  in  her  hand  once  more; 
but  her  repulsion  was  stronger  than  shame.  "Never!  " 
she  cried,  shuddering,  and  flung  them  far  away  into 
the  night. 

Next  moment  the  Doctor  had  whirled  her  to  the  well. 
The  man  was  there  and  the  lantern;  Anastasie  closed 
her  eyes  and  appeared  to  herself  to  be  about  to  die. 
How  she  was  transported  through  the  arch  she  knew 
not;  but  once  on  the  other  side  she  was  received  by  the 
neighbour's  wife,  and  enveloped  in  a  friendly  blanket. 

Beds  were  made  ready  for  the  two  women,  clothes 
of  very  various  sizes  for  the  Doctor  and  Jean-Marie ;  and 
for  the  remainder  of  the  night,  while  madame  dozed  in 
and  out  on  the  borderland  of  hysterics,  her  husband  sat 
beside  the  fire  and  held  forth  to  the  admiring  neigh- 
bours.    He  showed  them,  at  length,  the  causes  of  the 

269 


THE  TREASURE  OF   FRANCHARD 

accident;  for  years,  he  explained,  the  fall  had  been 
impending;  one  sign  had  followed  another,  the  joints 
had  opened,  the  plaster  had  cracked,  the  old  walls 
bowed  inward;  last,  not  three  weeks  ago,  the  cellar 
door  had  begun  to  work  with  difficulty  in  its  grooves. 
**  The  cellar! "  he  said,  gravely  shaking  his  head  over  a 
glass  of  mulled  wine.  "That  reminds  me  of  my  poor 
vintages.  By  a  manifest  providence  the  Hermitage  was 
nearly  at  an  end.  One  bottle  —  I  lose  but  one  bottle  of 
that  incomparable  wine.  It  had  been  set  apart  against 
Jean-Marie's  wedding.  Well,  I  must  lay  down  some 
more ;  it  will  be  an  interest  in  life.  I  am,  however,  a 
man  somewhat  advanced  in  years.  My  great  work  is 
now  buried  in  the  fall  of  my  humble  roof ;  it  will  never 
be  completed  —  my  name  will  have  been  writ  in  water. 
And  yet  you  find  me  calm  —  1  would  say  cheerful.  Can 
your  priest  do  more  ?  " 

By  the  first  glimpse  of  day  the  party  sallied  forth  from 
the  fireside  into  the  street.  The  wind  had  fallen,  but 
still  charioted  a  world  of  troubled  clouds ;  the  air  bit 
like  frost ;  and  the  party,  as  they  stood  about  the  ruins 
in  the  rainy  twilight  of  the  morning,  beat  upon  their 
breasts  and  blew  into  their  hands  for  warmth.  The 
house  had  entirely  fallen,  the  walls  outward,  the  roof 
in ;  it  was  a  mere  heap  of  rubbish,  with  here  and  there 
a  forlorn  spear  of  broken  rafter.  A  sentinel  was  placed 
over  the  ruins  to  protect  the  property,  and  the  party  ad- 
journed to  Tentaillon's  to  break  their  fast  at  the  Doc- 
tor's expense.  The  bottle  circulated  somewhat  freely; 
and  before  they  left  the  table  it  had  begun  to  snow. 

For  three  days  the  snow  continued  to  fall,  and  the 
ruins,  covered  with  tarpaulin  and  watched  by  sentries, 

270 


THE   FALL  OF  THE   HOUSE  OF  DESPREZ 

were  left  undisturbed.  The  Desprez'  meanwhile  had 
taken  up  their  abode  at  Tentaillon's.  Madame  spent 
her  time  in  the  kitchen,  concocting  little  delicacies,  with 
the  admiring  aid  of  Madame  Tentaillon,  or  sitting  by 
the  fire  in  thoughtful  abstraction.  The  fall  of  the  house 
affected  her  wonderfully  little;  that  blow  had  been  parried 
by  another;  and  in  her  mind  she  was  continually  fight- 
ing over  again  the  battle  of  the  trousers.  Had  she  done 
right  ?  Had  she  done  wrong  ?  And  now  she  would 
applaud  her  determination;  and  anon,  with  a  horrid 
flush  of  unavailing  penitence,  she  would  regret  the 
trousers.  No  juncture  in  her  life  had  so  much  exer- 
cised her  judgment.  In  the  meantime  the  Doctor  had 
become  vastly  pleased  with  his  situation.  Two  of  the 
summer  boarders  still  lingered  behind  the  rest,  prison- 
ers for  lack  of  a  remittance;  they  were  both  English, 
but  one  of  them  spoke  French  pretty  fluently,  and  was, 
besides,  a  humorous,  agile-minded  fellow,  with  whom 
the  Doctor  could  reason  by  the  hour,  secure  of  compre- 
hension. Many  were  the  glasses  they  emptied,  many 
the  topics  they  discussed. 

"  Anastasie,"  the  Doctor  said  on  the  third  morning, 
"take  an  example  from  your  husband,  from  Jean-Marie. 
The  excitement  has  done  more  for  the  boy  than  all  my 
tonics,  he  takes  his  turn  as  sentry  with  positive  gusto. 
As  for  me,  you  behold  me.  I  have  made  friends  with 
the  Egyptians;  and  my  Pharaoh  is,  I  swear  it,  a  most 
agreeable  companion.  You  alone  are  hipped.  About 
a  house  —  a  few  dresses  ?  What  are  they  in  compari- 
son to  the  '  Pharmacopoeia '  —  the  labour  of  years  lying 
buried  below  stones  and  sticks  in  this  depressing  ham- 
let?   The  snow  falls;  I  shake  it  from  my  cloak!     Imi- 

371 


THE  TREASURE   OF   FRANCHARD 

tate  me.  Our  income  will  be  impaired,  I  grant  it,  since 
we  must  rebuild;  but  moderation,  patience,  and  phi- 
losophy will  gather  about  the  hearth.  In  the  mean- 
while, the  Tentaillons  are  obliging ;  the  table,  with  your 
additions,  will  pass ;  only  the  wine  is  execrable  —  well, 
I  shall  send  for  some  to-day.  My  Pharaoh  will  be 
gratified  to  drink  a  decent  glass;  aha!  and  I  shall  see  if 
he  possesses  that  acme  of  organisation  —  a  palate.  If  he 
has  a  palate,  he  is  perfect." 

"Henri,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head,  "you  are  a 
man;  you  cannot  understand  my  feelings;  no  woman 
could  shake  off  the  memory  of  so  public  a  humiliation." 

The  Doctor  could  not  restrain  a  titter.  "Pardon 
me,  darling,"  he  said;  "but  really,  to  the  philosophical 
intelligence,  the  incident  appears  so  small  a  trifle.  You 
looked  extremely  well " 

"  Henri!  "  she  cried. 

"Well,  well,  I  will  say  no  more,"  he  replied. 
"Though,  to  be  sure,  if  you  had  consented  to  indue 

A  propos, ' '  he  broke  off,  * '  and  my  trousers !    They 

are  lying  in  the  snow  —  my  favourite  trousers!  "  And 
he  dashed  in  quest  of  Jean-Marie. 

Two  hours  afterwards  the  boy  returned  to  the  inn 
with  a  spade  under  one  arm  and  a  curious  sop  of  cloth- 
ing under  the  other. 

The  Doctor  ruefully  took  it  in  his  hands.  "They 
have  been !  "  he  said.  *  *  Their  tense  is  past.  Excellent 
pantaloons,  you  are  no  more!  Stay!  something  in  the 
pocket,"  and  he  produced  a  piece  of  paper.  "  A  letter! 
ay,  now  I  mind  me ;  it  was  received  on  the  morning  of 
the  gale,  when  I  was  absorbed  in  delicate  investigations. 
It  is  still  legible.     From  poor,  dear  Casimir!     It  is  as 

272 


THE   FALL  OF  THE   HOUSE   OF   DESPREZ 

well,"  he  chuckled,  ''that  I  have  educated  him  to  pa- 
tience. Poor  Casimir  and  his  correspondence — his  in- 
finitesimal, timorous,  idiotic  correspondence!" 

He  had  by  this  tir^e  cautiously  unfolded  the  wet  let- 
ter; but,  as  he  bent  himself  to  decipher  the  writing,  a 
cloud  descended  on  his  brow. 

"  Bigre!  "  he  cried,  with  a  galvanic  start. 

And  then  the  letter  was  whipped  into  the  fire,  and 
the  Doctor's  cap  was  on  his  head  in  the  turn  of  a  hand. 

"Ten  minutes!  I  can  catch  it,  if  1  run,"  he  cried. 
"It  is  always  late.     I  go  to  Paris.     I  shall  telegraph." 

"  Henri!  what  is  wrong  } "  cried  his  wife. 

"Ottoman  Bonds!  "  came  from  the  disappearing  Doc- 
tor; and  Anastasie  and  Jean-Marie  were  left  face  to  face 
with  the  wet  trousers.  Desprez  had  gone  to  Paris,  for 
the  second  time  in  seven  years;  he  had  gone  to  Paris 
with  a  pair  of  wooden  shoes,  a  knitted  spencer,  a  black 
blouse,  a  country  nightcap,  and  twenty  francs  in  his 
pocket.  The  fall  of  the  house  was  but  a  secondary 
marvel ;  the  whole  world  might  have  fallen  and  scarce 
left  his  family  more  petrified. 


a?) 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   WAGES   OF   PHILOSOPHY 

On  the  morning  of  the  next  day,  the  Doctor,  a  mere 
spectre  of  himself,  was  brought  back  in  the  custody  of 
Casimir.  They  found  Anastasie  and  the  boy  sitting 
together  by  the  fire;  and  Desprez,  who  had  exchanged 
his  toilette  for  a  ready-made  rig-out  of  poor  materials, 
waved  his  hand  as  he  entered,  and  sank  speechless  on 
the  nearest  chair.     Madame  turned  direct  to  Casimir. 

''What  is  wrong ? "  she  cried. 

''Well/'  replied  Casimir,  "what  have  I  told  you  all 
along  ?  It  has  come.  It  is  a  clean  shave,  this  time ;  so 
you  may  as  well  bear  up  and  make  the  best  of  it. 
House  down,  too,  eh  ?    Bad  luck,  upon  my  soul." 

"  Are  we  —  are  we —  ruined  ?  "  she  gasped. 

The  Doctor  stretched  out  his  arms  to  her.  * '  Ruined, " 
he  replied,  "  you  are  ruined  by  your  sinister  husband." 

Casimir  observed  the  consequent  embrace  through 
his  eyeglass;  then  he  turned  to  Jean-Marie.  "You 
hear  ?"  he  said.  "  They  are  ruined ;  no  more  pickings, 
no  more  house,  no  more  fat  cutlets.  It  strikes  me,  my 
friend,  that  you  had  best  be  packing ;  the  present  spec- 
ulation is  about  worked  out."  And  he  nodded  to  him 
meaningly, 

"Never!"  cried  Desprez,  springing  up.  "Jean- 
274 


THE   WAGES  OF   PHILOSOPHY 

Marie,  if  you  prefer  to  leave  me,  now  that  I  am  poor, 
you  can  go;  you  shall  receive  your  hundred  francs,  if 
so  much  remains  to  me.  But  if  you  will  consent  to 
stay  " — the  Doctor  wept  a  little — **  Casimir  offers  me  a 
place  —  as  clerk,"  he  resumed.  **  The  emoluments  are 
slender,  but  they  will  be  enough  for  three.  It  is  too  much 
already  to  have  lost  my  fortune;  must  1  lose  my  son.?" 

Jean-Marie  sobbed  bitterly,  but  without  a  word. 

"I  don't  like  boys  who  cry,"  observed  Casimir. 
''This  one  is  always  crying.  Here!  you  clear  out  of 
this  for  a  little ;  1  have  business  with  your  master  and 
mistress,  and  these  domestic  feelings  may  be  settled  after 
I  am  gone.     March! "  and  he  held  the  door  open. 

Jean-Marie  slunk  out,  like  a  detected  thief 

By  twelve  they  were  all  at  table  but  Jean-Marie. 

** Hey  ? "  said  Casimir.  ''Gone,  you  see.  Took  the 
hint  at  once." 

"I  do  not,  1  confess,"  said  Desprez,  "  I  do  not  seek 
to  excuse  his  absence.  It  speaks  a  want  of  heart  that 
disappoints  me  sorely." 

' '  Want  of  manners, ' '  corrected  Casimir.  ' '  Heart,  he 
never  had.  Why,  Desprez,  for  a  clever  fellow,  you  are 
the  most  gullible  mortal  in  creation.  Your  ignorance 
of  human  nature  and  human  business  is  beyond  belief 
You  are  swindled  by  heathen  Turks,  swindled  by  vag- 
abond children,  swindled  right  and  left,  upstairs  and 
downstairs.  1  think  it  must  be  your  imagination.  I 
thank  my  stars  1  have  none." 

"Pardon  me,"  replied  Desprez,  still  humbly,  but 
with  a  return  of  spirit  at  sight  of  a  distinction  to  be 
drawn;  "pardon  me,  Casimir.  You  possess,  even  to 
an  eminent  degree,  the  commercial  imagination.      It 

275 


THE  TREASURE  OF   FRANCHARD 

was  the  lack  of  that  in  me  —  it  appears  it  is  my  weak 
point  —  that  has  led  to  these  repeated  shocks.  By  the 
commercial  imagination  the  financier  forecasts  the  des- 
tiny of  his  investments,  marks  the  falling  house " 

"Egad,"  interrupted  Casimir:  " our  friend  the  stable- 
boy  appears  to  have  his  share  of  it." 

The  Doctor  was  silenced ;  and  the  meal  was  continued 
and  finished  principally  to  the  tune  of  the  brother-in- 
law's  not  very  consolatory  conversation.  He  entirely 
ignored  the  two  young  English  painters,  turning  a  blind 
eyeglass  to  their  salutations,  and  continuing  his  remarks 
as  if  he  were  alone  in  the  bosom  of  his  family ;  and  with 
every  second  word  he  ripped  another  stitch  out  of  the 
air  balloon  of  Desprez's  vanity.  By  the  time  coffee  was 
over  the  poor  Doctor  was  as  limp  as  a  napkin. 

"  Let  us  go  and  see  the  ruins,"  said  Casimir. 

They  strolled  forth  into  the  street.  The  fall  of  the 
house,  like  the  loss  of  a  front  tooth,  had  quite  trans- 
formed the  village.  Through  the  gap  the  eye  com- 
manded a  great  stretch  of  open  snowy  country,  and  the 
place  shrank  in  comparison.  It  was  like  a  room  with  an 
open  door.  The  sentinel  stood  by  the  green  gate,  look- 
ing very  red  and  cold,  but  he  had  a  pleasant  word  for 
the  Doctor  and  his  wealthy  kinsman. 

Casimir  looked  at  the  mound  of  ruins,  he  tried  the 
quality  of  the  tarpaulin.  '*  H'm,"  he  said,  **  I  hope  the 
cellar  arch  has  stood.  If  it  has,  my  good  brother,  I  will 
give  you  a  good  price  for  the  wines." 

"We  shall  start  digging  to-morrow,"  said  the  sentry. 
"There  is  no  more  fear  of  snow." 

"My  friend,"  returned  Casimir  sententiously,  "you 
had  better  wait  till  you  get  paid." 

276 


THE  WAGES  OF   PHILOSOPHY 

The  Doctor  winced,  and  began  dragging  his  offensive 
brother-in-law  towards  Tentaillon's.  In  the  house  there 
would  be  fewer  auditors,  and  these  already  in  the  secret 
of  his  fall. 

"Hullo,"  cried  Casimir,  "there  goes  the  stable-boy 
with  his  luggage;  no,  egad,  he  is  taking  it  into  the 
inn." 

And  sure  enough,  Jean-Marie  was  seen  to  cross  the 
snowy  street  and  enter  Tentaillon's,  staggering  under  a 
large  hamper. 

The  Doctor  stopped  with  a  sudden,  wild  hope. 

"What  can  he  have  ?  "  he  said.  '  *  Let  us  go  and  see. " 
And  he  hurried  on. 

"  His  luggage,  to  be  sure,"  answered  Casimir.  "  He 
is  on  the  move  —  thanks  to  the  commercial  imagina- 
tion." 

"  I  have  not  seen  that  hamper  for — for  ever  so  long," 
remarked  the  Doctor. 

"Nor  will  you  see  it  much  longer,"  chuckled  Casimir; 
"unless,  indeed,  we  interfere.  And  by  the  way,  I  in- 
sist on  an  examination." 

"  You  will  not  require,"  said  Desprez,  positively  with 
a  sob ;  and,  casting  a  moist,  triumphant  glance  at  Casi- 
mir, he  began  to  run. 

"What  the  devil  is  up  with  him,  I  wonder?"  Casi- 
mir reflected;  and  then,  curiosity  taking  the  upper 
hand,  he  followed  the  Doctor's  example  and  took  to 
his  heels. 

The  hamper  was  so  heavy  and  large,  and  Jean-Marie 
himself  so  little  and  so  weary,  that  it  had  taken  him  a 
great  while  to  bundle  it  upstairs  to  the  Desprez'  private 
room ;  and  he  had  just  set  it  down  on  the  floor  in  front 

377 


THE  TREASURE   OF   FRANCHARD 

of  Anastasie,  when  the  Doctor  arrived,  and  was  closely 
followed  by  the  man  of  business.  Boy  and  hamper  were 
both  in  a  most  sorry  plight ;  for  the  one  had  passed  four 
months  underground  in  a  certain  cave  on  the  way  to 
Acheres,  and  the  other  had  run  about  five  miles,  as  hard 
as  his  legs  would  carry  him,  half  that  distance  under  a 
staggering  weight. 

''Jean-Marie,"  cried  the  Doctor,  in  a  voice  that  was 

only  too  seraphic  to  be  called  hysterical,  *'is  it ? 

It  is!"  he  cried.  "O,  my  son,  my  son!"  And  he 
sat  down  upon  the  hamper  and  sobbed  like  a  little 
child. 

"You  will  not  go  to  Paris,  now,"  said  Jean-Marie 
sheepishly. 

**Casimir,"  said  Desprez,  raising  his  wet  face,  *'do 
you  see  that  boy,  that  angel  boy.^  he  is  the  thief;  he 
took  the  treasure  from  a  man  unfit  to  be  entrusted 
with  its  use;  he  brings  it  back  to  me  when  I  am 
sobered  and  humbled.  These,  Casimir,  are  the  Fruits 
of  my  Teaching,  and  this  moment  is  the  Reward  of  my 
Life." 

"  Tiens, ' '  said  Casimir. 


278 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND  MR.  HYDE 


TO 

KATHARINE  DE  MATTOS 

It's  ill  to  loose  the  bands  that  God  decreed  to  bind; 
Still  will  we  be  the  children  of  the  heather  and  the  wind. 
Far  away  from  home,  O  it's  still  for  you  and  me 
That  the  broom  is  blowing  bonnie  in  the  north  countrie. 


STRANGE  CASE  OF 
DR.  JEKYLL  AND  MR.  HYDE 


STORY  OF  THE  DOOR 

MR.  UTTERSON  the  lawyer  was  a  man  of  a  rugged 
countenance,  that  was  never  lighted  by  a  smile ; 
cold,  scanty  and  embarrassed  in  discourse;  backward 
in  sentiment;  lean,  long,  dusty,  dreary  and  yet  some- 
how lovable.  At  friendly  meetings,  and  when  the  wine 
was  to  his  taste,  something  eminently  human  beaconed 
from  his  eye;  something  indeed  which  never  found  its 
way  into  his  talk,  but  which  spoke  not  only  in  these 
silent  symbols  of  the  after-dinner  face,  but  more  often 
and  loudly  in  the  acts  of  his  life.  He  was  austere  with 
himself;  drank  gin  when  he  was  alone,  to  mortify  a 
taste  for  vintages;  and  though  he  enjoyed  the  theatre, 
had  not  crossed  the  doors  of  one  for  twenty  years.  But 
he  had  an  approved  tolerance  for  others;  sometimes 
wondering,  almost  with  envy,  at  the  high  pressure  of 
spirits  involved  in  their  misdeeds;  and  in  any  extremity 
inclined  to  help  rather  than  to  reprove.  "I  incline  to 
Cain's  heresy,"  he  used  to  say  quaintly:  "I  let  my 
brother  go  to  the  devil  in  his  own  way. "    In  this  char- 

281 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

acter,  it  was  frequently  his  fortune  to  be  the  last  rep- 
utable acquaintance  and  the  last  good  influence  in  the 
lives  of  down-going  men.  And  to  such  as  these,  so 
long  as  they  came  about  his  chambers,  he  never  marked 
a  shade  of  change  in  his  demeanour. 

No  doubt  the  feat  was  easy  to  Mr.  Utterson ;  for  he 
was  undemonstrative  at  the  best,  and  even  his  friendship 
seemed  to  be  founded  in  a  similar  catholicity  of  good- 
nature. It  is  the  mark  of  a  modest  man  to  accept  his 
friendly  circle  ready-made  from  the  hands  of  oppor- 
tunity; and  that  was  the  lawyer's  way.  His  friends 
were  those  of  his  own  blood  or  those  whom  he  had 
known  the  longest;  his  affections,  like  ivy,  were  the 
growth  of  time,  they  implied  no  aptness  in  the  object. 
Hence,  no  doubt,  the  bond  that  united  him  to  Mr. 
Richard  Enfield,  his  distant  kinsman,  the  well-known 
man  about  town.  It  was  a  nut  to  crack  for  many,  what 
these  two  could  see  in  each  other,  or  what  subject  they 
could  find  in  common.  It  was  reported  by  those  who 
encountered  them  in  their  Sunday  walks,  that  they  said 
nothing,  looked  singularly  dull,  and  would  hail  with 
obvious  relief  the  appearance  of  a  friend.  For  all  that, 
the  two  men  put  the  greatest  store  by  these  excursions, 
counted  them  the  chief  jewel  of  each  week,  and  not 
only  set  aside  occasions  of  pleasure,  but  even  resisted 
the  calls  of  business,  that  they  might  enjoy  them  unin- 
terrupted. 

It  chanced  on  one  of  these  rambles  that  their  way  led 
them  down  a  by-street  in  a  busy  quarter  of  London. 
The  street  was  small  and  what  is  called  quiet,  but  it 
drove  a  thriving  trade  on  the  week-days.  The  inhabi- 
tants were  all  domg  well,  it  seemed,  and  all  emulously 

282 


STORY   OF  THE   DOOR 

hoping  to  do  better  still,  and  laying  out  the  surplus  of 
their  gains  in  coquetry ;  so  that  the  shop  fronts  stood 
along  that  thoroughfare  with  an  air  of  invitation,  like 
rows  of  smiling  saleswomen.  Even  on  Sunday,  when 
it  veiled  its  more  florid  charms  and  lay  comparatively 
empty  of  passage,  the  street  shone  out  in  contrast  to  its 
dingy  neighbourhood,  like  a  fire  in  a  forest;  and  with 
its  freshly  painted  shutters,  well-polished  brasses,  and 
general  cleanliness  and  gaiety  of  note,  instantly  caught 
and  pleased  the  eye  of  the  passenger. 

Two  doors  from  one  corner,  on  the  left  hand  going 
east,  the  line  was  broken  by  the  entry  of  a  court;  and 
just  at  that  point,  a  certain  sinister  block  of  building 
thrust  forward  its  gable  on  the  street.  It  was  two 
storeys  high;  showed  no  window,  nothing  but  a  door 
on  the  lower  storey  and  a  blind  forehead  of  discoloured 
wall  on  the  upper;  and  bore  in  every  feature,  the  marks 
of  prolonged  and  sordid  negligence.  The  door,  which 
was  equipped  with  neither  bell  nor  knocker,  was  blis- 
tered and  distained.  Tramps  slouched  into  the  recess 
and  struck  matches  on  the  panels;  children  kept  shop 
upon  the  steps;  the  schoolboy  had  tried  his  knife  on 
the  mouldings;  and  for  close  on  a  generation,  no  one 
had  appeared  to  drive  away  these  random  visitors  or  to 
repair  their  ravages. 

Mr.  Enfield  and  the  lawyer  were  on  the  other  side  of 
the  by-street;  but  when  they  came  abreast  of  the  entry, 
the  former  lifted  up  his  cane  and  pointed. 

"Did  you  ever  remark  that  door.^"  he  asked;  and 
when  his  companion  had  replied  in  the  affirmative,  "  It 
is  connected  in  my  mind,"  added  he,  "  with  a  very  odd 
story." 

a83 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

''Indeed.?"  said  Mr.  Utterson,  with  a  slight  change 
of  voice,  ''  and  what  was  that  ?  " 

"Well,  it  was  this  way,"  returned  Mr.  Enfield:  "\ 
was  coming  home  from  some  place  at  the  end  of  the 
world,  about  three  o'clock  of  a  black  winter  morning, 
and  my  way  lay  through  a  part  of  town  where  there 
was  literally  nothing  to  be  seen  but  lamps.  Street  after 
street,  and  all  the  folks  asleep  —  street  after  street,  all 
lighted  up  as  if  for  a  procession  and  all  as  empty  as  a 
church  —  till  at  last  I  got  into  that  state  of  mind  when  a 
man  listens  and  listens  and  begins  to  long  for  the  sight 
of  a  policeman.  All  at  once,  I  saw  two  figures :  one  a 
little  man  who  was  stumping  along  eastward  at  a  good 
walk,  and  the  other  a  girl  of  maybe  eight  or  ten  who 
was  running  as  hard  as  she  was  able  down  a  cross  street. 
Well,  sir,  the  two  ran  into  one  another  naturally  enough 
at  the  corner;  and  then  came  the  horrible  part  of  the 
thing;  for  the  man  trampled  calmly  over  the  child's 
body  and  left  her  screaming  on  the  ground.  It  sounds 
nothing  to  hear,  but  it  was  hellish  to  see.  It  wasn't 
like  a  man;  it  was  like  some  damned  Juggernaut.  I 
gave  a  view  halloa,  took  to  my  heels,  collared  my  gentle- 
man, and  brought  him  back  to  where  there  was  already 
quite  a  group  about  the  screaming  child.  He  was  per- 
fectly cool  and  made  no  resistance,  but  gave  me  one 
look,  so  ugly  that  it  brought  out  the  sweat  on  me  like 
running.  The  people  who  had  turned  out  were  the 
girl's  own  family ;  and  pretty  soon,  the  doctor,  for  whom 
she  had  been  sent,  put  in  his  appearance.  Well,  the 
child  was  not  much  the  worse,  more  frightened,  ac- 
cording to  the  Sawbones;  and  there  you  might  have 
supposed  would  be  an  end  to  it.     But  there  was  one 

284 


STORY   OF  THE   DOOR 

curious  circumstance.  I  had  taken  a  loathing  to  my 
gentleman  at  first  sight.  So  had  the  child's  family, 
which  was  only  natural.  But  the  doctor's  case  was 
what  struck  me.  He  was  the  usual  cut  and  dry  apothe- 
cary, of  no  particular  age  and  colour,  with  a  strong 
Edinburgh  accent, and  about  as  emotional  as  a  bagpipe. 
Well,  sir,  he  was  like  the  rest  of  us;  every  time  he 
looked  at  my  prisoner,  1  saw  that  Sawbones  turn  sick 
and  white  with  the  desire  to  kill  him.  1  knew  what 
was  in  his  mind,  just  as  he  knew  what  was  in  mine; 
and  killing  being  out  of  the  question,  we  did  the  next 
best.  We  told  the  man  we  could  and  would  make 
such  a  scandal  out  of  this,  as  should  make  his  name  stink 
from  one  end  of  London  to  the  other.  If  he  had  any 
friends  or  any  credit,  we  undertook  that  he  should  lose 
them.  And  all  the  time,  as  we  were  pitching  it  in  red 
hot,  we  were  keeping  the  women  off  him  as  best  we 
could,  for  they  were  as  wild  as  harpies.  I  never  saw  a 
circle  of  such  hateful  faces ;  and  there  was  the  man  in 
the  middle,  with  a  kind  of  black,  sneering  coolness  — 
frightened  too,  1  could  see  that  —  but  carrying  it  off,  sir, 
really  like  Satan.  *  If  you  choose  to  make  capital  out 
of  this  accident,'  said  he,  *I  am  naturally  helpless.  No 
gentleman  but  wishes  to  avoid  a  scene,'  says  he. 
'Name  your  figure.'  Well,  we  screwed  him  up  to  a 
hundred  pounds  for  the  child's  family;  he  would  have 
clearly  liked  to  stick  out;  but  there  was  something 
about  the  lot  of  us  that  meant  mischief,  and  at  last  he 
struck.  The  next  thing  was  to  get  the  money;  and 
where  do  you  think  he  carried  us  but  to  that  place  with 
the  door  }  —  whipped  out  a  key,  went  in,  and  presently 
came  back  with  the  matter  of  ten  pounds  in  gold  and 

285 


DR.  JEKYLL   AND   MR.  HYDE 

a  cheque  for  the  balance  on  Coutts's,  drawn  payable  to 
bearer  and  signed  with  a  name  that  I  can't  mention, 
though  it's  one  of  the  points  of  my  story,  but  it  was  a 
name  at  least  very  well  known  and  often  printed.  The 
figure  was  stiff;  but  the  signature  was  good  for  more 
than  that,  if  it  was  only  genuine.  I  took  the  liberty  of 
pointing  out  to  my  gentleman  that  the  whole  business 
looked  apocryphal,  and  that  a  man  does  not,  in  real 
life,  walk  into  a  cellar  door  at  four  in  the  morning  and 
come  out  of  it  with  another  man's  cheque  for  close  upon 
a  hundred  pounds.  But  he  was  quite  easy  and  sneer- 
ing. '  Set  your  mind  at  rest,'  says  he,  *  I  will  stay  with 
you  till  the  banks  open  and  cash  the  cheque  myself/ 
So  we  all  set  off,  the  doctor,  and  the  child's  father,  and 
our  friend  and  myself,  and  passed  the  rest  of  the  night 
in  my  chambers ;  and  next  day,  when  we  had  break- 
fasted, went  in  a  body  to  the  bank.  I  gave  in  the  check 
myself,  and  said  1  had  every  reason  to  believe  it  was  a 
forgery.     Not  a  bit  of  it.     The  cheque  was  genuine." 

"Tut-tut,"  said  Mr.  Utterson. 

*M  see  you  feel  as  1  do,"  said  Mr.  Enfield.  "Yes, 
it's  a  bad  story.  For  my  man  was  a  fellow  that  nobody 
could  have  to  do  with,  a  really  damnable  man ;  and  the 
person  that  drew  the  cheque  is  the  very  pink  of  the  pro- 
prieties, celebrated  too,  and  (what  makes  it  worse)  one 
of  your  fellows  who  do  what  they  call  good.  Black 
mail,  I  suppose;  an  honest  man  paying  through  the  nose 
for  some  of  the  capers  of  his  youth.  Black  Mail  House 
is  what  I  call  that  place  with  the  door,  in  consequence. 
Though  even  that,  you  know,  is  fr.r  from  explaining  all," 
he  added,  and  with  the  words  fell  into  a  vein  of  musing. 

From  this  he  was  recalled  by  Mr.  Utterson  asking 
286 


STORY   OF  THE   DOOR 

rather  suddenly:  **  And  you  don't  know  if  the  drawer 
of  the  cheque  lives  there  ?" 

•*A  likely  place,  isn't  it?"  returned  Mr.  Enfield. 
"  But  I  happen  to  have  noticed  his  address;  he  lives  in 
some  square  or  other." 

"And  you  never  asked  about  the  —  place  with  the 
door  ?  "  said  Mr.  Utterson. 

"No,  sir:  1  had  a  delicacy,"  was  the  reply.  "I  feel 
very  strongly  about  putting  questions;  it  partakes  too 
much  of  the  style  of  the  day  of  judgment.  You  start  a 
question,  and  it's  like  starting  a  stone.  You  sit  quietly 
on  the  top  of  a  hill ;  and  away  the  stone  goes,  starting 
others ;  and  presently  some  bland  old  bird  (the  last  you 
would  have  thought  of)  is  knocked  on  the  head  in  his 
own  back  garden  and  the  family  have  to  change  their 
name.  No,  sir,  I  make  it  a  rule  of  mine:  the  more  it 
looks  like  Queer  Street,  the  less  1  ask." 

"  A  very  good  rule,  too,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  But  I  have  studied  the  place  for  myself,"  continued 
Mr.  Enfield.  "  It  seems  scarcely  a  house.  There  is  no 
other  door,  and  nobody  goes  in  or  out  of  that  one  but, 
once  in  a  great  while,  the  gentleman  of  my  adventure. 
There  are  three  windows  looking  on  the  court  on  the 
first  floor;  none  below;  the  windows  are  always  shut 
but  they're  clean.  And  then  there  is  a  chimney  which 
is  generally  smoking;  so  somebody  must  live  there. 
And  yet  it's  not  so  sure ;  for  the  buildings  are  so  packed 
together  about  that  court,  that  it's  hard  to  say  where 
one  ends  and  another  begins." 

The  pair  walked  on  again  for  a  while  in  silence;  and 
then  "Enfield,  "  said  Mr.  Utterson,  "that's  a  good  rule 

of  yours." 

287 


DR.  JEKYLL   AND   MR.  HYDE 

"Yes,  I  think  it  is,"  returned  Enfield. 

'*But  for  all  that,"  continued  the  lawyer,  ** there's 
one  point  I  want  to  ask :  I  want  to  ask  the  name  of  that 
man  who  walked  over  the  child." 

*'Well,"  said  Mr.  Enfield,  'M  can't  see  what  harm  it 
would  do.     It  was  a  man  of  the  name  of  Hyde." 

**  H'm,"  said  Mr.  Utterson.  ''  What  sort  of  a  man  is 
he  to  see  ?" 

**He  is  not  easy  to  describe.  There  is  something 
wrong  with  his  appearance;  something  displeasing, 
something  downright  detestable.  I  never  saw  a  man  I 
so  disliked,  and  yet  I  scarce  know  why.  He  must  be 
deformed  somewhere ;  he  gives  a  strong  feeling  of  de- 
formity, although  I  couldn't  specify  the  point.  He's  an 
extraordinary  looking  man,  and  yet  I  really  can  name 
nothing  out  of  the  way.  No,  sir;  1  can  make  no  hand 
of  it ;  I  can't  describe  him.  And  it's  not  want  of  mem- 
ory; for  I  declare  I  can  see  him  this  moment." 

Mr.  Utterson  again  walked  some  way  in  silence  and 
obviously  under  a  weight  of  consideration.  *'  You  are 
sure  he  used  a  key  ?  "  he  inquired  at  last. 

"My  dear  sir  .  .  .  "  began  Enfield,  surprised  out  of 
himself 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Utterson;  "I  know  it  must 
-seem  strange.  The  fact  is,  if  I  do  not  ask  you  the 
name  of  the  other  party,  it  is  because  1  know  it  already. 
You  see,  Richard,  your  tale  has  gone  home.  If  you 
have  been  inexact  in  any  point,  you  had  better  cor- 
rect it." 

"  I  think  you  might  have  warned  me,"  returned  the 
other  with  a  touch  of  sullenness.  "But  I  have  been 
pedantically  exact,  as  you  call  it.      The  fellow  had  a 

288 


STORY   OF  THE   DOOR 

key ;  and  what's  more,  he  has  it  still.  I  saw  him  use  it, 
not  a  week  ago." 

Mr.  Utterson  sighed  deeply  but  said  never  a  word; 
and  the  young  man  presently  resumed.  **  Here  is  an- 
other lesson  to  say  nothing,"  said  he.  "I  am  ashamed 
of  my  long  tongue.  Let  us  make  a  bargain  never  to  re- 
fer to  this  again." 

"With  all  my  heart,"  said  the  lawyer.  *'I  shake 
hands  on  that,  Richard." 


2Sg 


SEARCH  FOR  MR.    HYDE 

That  evening  Mr.  Utterson  came  home  to  his  bache- 
lor house  in  sombre  spirits  and  sat  down  to  dinner  with- 
out relish.  It  was  his  custom  of  a  Sunday,  when  this 
meal  was  over,  to  sit  close  by  the  fire,  a  volume  of  some 
dry  divinity  on  his  reading  desk,  until  the  clock  of  the 
neighbouring  church  rang  out  the  hour  of  twelve,  when 
he  would  go  soberly  and  gratefully  to  bed.  On  this 
night,  however,  as  soon  as  the  cloth  was  taken  away, 
he  took  up  a  candle  and  went  into  his  business  room. 
There  he  opened  his  safe,  took  from  the  most  private 
part  of  it  a  document  endorsed  on  the  envelope  as  Dr. 
Jekyll's  Will,  and  sat  down  with  a  clouded  brow  to 
study  its  contents.  The  will  was  holograph,  for  Mr. 
Utterson,  though  he  took  charge  of  it  now  that  it  was 
made,  had  refused  to  lend  the  least  assistance  in  the 
making  of  it;  it  provided  not  only  that,  in  case  of  the 
decease  of  Henry  Jekyll,  M.D.,  D.C.L.,  LL.D.,  F.R.S., 
etc.,  all  his  possessions  were  to  pass  into  the  hands  of 
his  "friend  and  benefactor  Edward  Hyde,"  but  that  in 
case  of  Dr.  Jekyll's  **  disappearance  or  unexplained  ab- 
sence for  any  period  exceeding  three  calendar  months," 
the  said  Edward  Hyde  should  step  into  the  said  Henry 
Jekyll's  shoes  without  further  delay  and  free  from  any 
burthen  or  obligation,  beyond  the  payment  of  a  few 


SEARCH    FOR   MR.  HYDE 

small  sums  to  the  members  of  the  doctor's  household. 
This  document  had  long  been  the  lawyer's  eyesore.  It 
offended  him  both  as  a  lawyer  and  as  a  lover  of  the  sane 
and  customary  sides  of  life,  to  whom  the  fanciful  was 
the  immodest.  And  hitherto  it  was  his  ignorance  of 
Mr.  Hyde  that  had  swelled  his  indignation ;  now,  by  a 
sudden  turn,  it  was  his  knowledge.  It  was  already  bad 
enough  when  the  name  was  but  a  name  of  which  he 
could  learn  no  more.  It  was  worse  when  it  began  to 
be  clothed  upon  with  detestable  attributes ;  and  out  of 
the  shifting,  insubstantial  mists  that  had  so  long  baffled 
his  eye,  there  leaped  up  the  sudden,  definite  present- 
ment of  a  fiend. 

"  I  thought  it  was  madness,"  he  said,  as  he  replaced 
the  obnoxious  paper  in  the  safe,  "and  now  1  begin  to 
fear  it  is  disgrace." 

With  that  he  blew  out  his  candle,  put  on  a  great- 
coat, and  set  forth  in  the  direction  of  Cavendish  Square, 
that  citadel  of  medicine,  where  his  friend,  the  great  Dr. 
Lanyon,  had  his  house  and  received  his  crowding  pa- 
tients. "  If  anyone  knows,  it  will  be  Lanyon,"  he  had 
thought. 

The  solemn  butler  knew  and  welcomed  him ;  he  was 
subjected  to  no  stage  of  delay,  but  ushered  direct  from 
the  door  to  the  dining-room  where  Dr.  Lanyon  sat  alone 
over  his  wine.  This  was  a  hearty,  healthy,  dapper, 
red-faced  gentleman,  with  a  shock  of  hair  prematurely 
white,  and  a  boisterous  and  decided  manner.  At  sight 
of  Mr.  Utterson,  he  sprang  up  from  his  chair  and  wel- 
comed him  with  both  hands.  The  geniality,  as  was  the 
way  of  the  man,  was  somewhat  theatrical  to  the  eye; 
but  it  reposed  on  genuine  feeling.     For  these  two  were 

2QI 


DR.  JEKYLL   AND   MR.  HYDE 

old  friends,  old  mates  both  at  school  and  college,  both 
thorough  respecters  of  themselves  and  of  each  other, 
and,  what  does  not  always  follow,  men  who  thoroughly 
enjoyed  each  other's  company. 

After  a  little  rambling  talk,  the  lawyer  led  up  to  the 
subject  which  so  disagreeably  preoccupied  his  mind. 

''I  suppose,  Lanyon,"  said  he,  *'you  and  I  must  be 
the  two  oldest  friends  that  Henry  Jekyll  has  ?'* 

''I  wish  the  friends  were  younger,"  chuckled  Dr. 
Lanyon.  *'  But  I  suppose  we  are.  And  what  of  that  ? 
I  see  little  of  him  now." 

"Indeed.?"  said  Utterson.  ''I  thought  you  had  a 
bond  of  common  interest." 

"We  had,"  was  the  reply.  "But  it  is  more  than  ten 
years  since  Henry  Jekyll  became  too  fanciful  for  me. 
He  began  to  go  wrong,  wrong  in  mind ;  and  though  of 
course  I  continue  to  take  an  interest  in  him  for  old 
sake's  sake,  as  they  say,  I  see  and  I  have  seen  devilish 
little  of  the  man.  Such  unscientific  balderdash,"  added 
the  doctor,  flushing  suddenly  purple,  "would  have 
estranged  Damon  and  Pythias." 

This  little  spirt  of  temper  was  somewhat  of  a  relief 
to  Mr.  Utterson.  "They  have  only  differed  on  some 
point  of  science,"  he  thought;  and  being  a  man  of  no 
scientific  passions  (except  in  the  matter  of  convey- 
ancing), he  even  added:  "It  is  nothing  worse  than 
that!  "  He  gave  his  friend  a  few  seconds  to  recover  his 
composure,  and  then  approached  the  question  he  had 
come  to  put.  "  Did  you  ever  come  across  a  protege  of 
his  —  one  Hyde.?"  he  asked. 

' '  Hyde  ?  "  repeated  Lanyon.  "  No.  Never  heard  of 
him.     Since  my  time." 

293 


SEARCH    FOR   MR.  HYDE 

That  was  the  amount  of  information  that  the  lawyer 
carried  back  with  him  to  the  great,  dark  bed  on  which 
he  tossed  to  and  fro,  until  the  small  hours  of  the  morn- 
ing began  to  grow  large.  It  was  a  night  of  little  ease 
to  his  toiling  mind,  toiling  in  mere  darkness  and  be- 
sieged by  questions. 

Six  o'clock  struck  on  the  bells  of  the  church  that  was 
so  conveniently  near  to  Mr.  Utterson's  dwelling,  and 
still  he  was  digging  at  the  problem.  Hitherto  it  had 
touched  him  on  the  intellectual  side  alone;  but  now  his 
imagination  also  was  engaged,  or  rather  enslaved ;  and 
as  he  lay  and  tossed  in  the  gross  darkness  of  the  night 
and  the  curtained  room,  Mr.  Enfield's  tale  went  by 
before  his  mind  in  a  scroll  of  lighted  pictures.  He 
would  be  aware  of  the  great  field  of  lamps  of  a  noc- 
turnal city ;  then  of  the  figure  of  a  man  walking  swiftly ; 
then  of  a  child  running  from  the  doctor's;  and  then 
these  met,  and  that  human  Juggernaut  trod  the  child 
down  and  passed  on  regardless  of  her  screams.  Or 
else  he  would  see  a  room  in  a  rich  house,  where  his 
friend  lay  asleep,  dreaming  and  smiling  at  his  dreams ; 
and  then  the  door  of  that  room  would  be  opened,  the 
curtains  of  the  bed  plucked  apart,  the  sleeper  recalled, 
and  lo !  there  would  stand  by  his  side  a  figure  to  whom 
power  was  given,  and  even  at  that  dead  hour,  he  must 
rise  and  do  its  bidding.  The  figure  in  these  two  phases 
haunted  the  lawyer  all  night;  and  if  at  any  time  he 
dozed  over,  it  was  but  to  see  it  glide  more  stealthily 
through  sleeping  houses,  or  move  the  more  swiftly  and 
still  the  more  swiftly,  even  to  dizziness,  through  wider 
labyrinths  of  lamplighted  city,  and  at  every  street  cor- 
ner crush  a  child  and  leave  her  screaming.     And  still 

293 


DR.  JEKYLL   AND   MR.  HYDE 

the  figure  had  no  face  by  which  he  might  know  it; 
even  in  his  dreams,  it  had  no  face,  or  one  that  baffled 
him  and  melted  before  his  eyes ;  and  thus  it  was  that 
there  sprang  up  and  grew  apace  in  the  lawyer's  mind  a 
singularly  strong,  almost  an  inordinate,  curiosity  to  be- 
hold the  features  of  the  real  Mr.  Hyde.  If  he  could  but 
once  set  eyes  on  him,  he  thought  the  mystery  would 
lighten  and  perhaps  roll  altogether  away,  as  was  the 
habit  of  mysterious  things  when  well  examined.  He 
might  see  a  reason  for  his  friend's  strange  preference  or 
bondage  (call  it  which  you  please)  and  even  for  the 
startling  clause  of  the  will.  At  least  it  would  be  a  face 
worth  seeing:  the  face  of  a  man  who  was  without 
bowels  of  mercy :  a  face  which  had  but  to  show  itself 
to  raise  up,  in  the  mind  of  the  unimpressionable  Enfield, 
a  spirit  of  enduring  hatred. 

From  that  time  forward,  Mr.  Utterson  began  to  haunt 
the  door  in  the  by-street  of  shops.  In  the  morning  be- 
fore office  hours,  at  noon  when  business  was  plenty, 
and  time  scarce,  at  night  under  the  face  of  the  fogged 
city  moon,  by  all  lights  and  at  all  hours  of  solitude  or 
concourse,  the  lawyer  was  to  be  found  on  his  chosen 
post. 

"If  he  be  Mr.  Hyde,"  he  had  thought,  'M  shall  be 
Mr.  Seek." 

And  at  last  his  patience  was  rewarded.  It  was  a  fine 
dry  night ;  frost  in  the  air ;  the  streets  as  clean  as  a  ball- 
room floor;  the  lamps,  unshaken  by  any  wind,  draw- 
ing a  regular  pattern  of  light  and  shadow.  By  ten 
o  clock,  when  the  shops  were  closed,  the  by-street  was 
very  solitary  and,  in  spite  of  the  low  growl  of  London 
from  all  round,  very  silent.     Small  sounds  carried  far; 

294 


SEARCH    FOR  MR.  HYDE 

domestic  sounds  out  of  the  houses  were  clearly  audible 
on  either  side  of  the  roadway ;  and  the  rumour  of  the 
approach  of  any  passenger  preceded  him  by  a  long  time. 
Mr.  Utterson  had  been  some  minutes  at  his  post,  when 
he  was  aware  of  an  odd,  light  footstep  drawing  near. 
In  the  course  of  his  nightly  patrols,  he  had  long  grown 
accustomed  to  the  quaint  effect  with  which  the  footfalls 
of  a  single  person,  while  he  is  still  a  great  way  off,  sud- 
denly spring  out  distinct  from  the  vast  hum  and  clatter 
of  the  city.  Yet  his  attention  had  never  before  been 
so  sharply  and  decisively  arrested ;  and  it  was  with  a 
strong,  superstitious  prevision  of  success  that  he  with- 
drew into  the  entry  of  the  court. 

The  steps  drew  swiftly  nearer,  and  swelled  out  sud- 
denly louder  as  they  turned  the  end  of  the  street.  The 
lawyer,  looking  forth  from  the  entry,  could  soon  see 
what  manner  of  man  he  had  to  deal  with.  He  was 
small  and  very  plainly  dressed,  and  the  look  of  him, 
even  at  that  distance,  went  somehow  strongly  against 
the  watcher's  inclination.  But  he  made  straight  for  the 
door,  crossing  the  roadway  to  save  time;  and  as  he 
came,  he  drew  a  key  from  his  pocket  like  one  approach- 
ing home. 

Mr.  Utterson  stepped  out  and  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder  as  he  passed.     "  Mr.  Hyde,  1  think  ?" 

Mr.  Hyde  shrank  back  with  a  hissing  intake  of  the 
breath.  But  his  fear  was  only  momentary ;  and  though 
he  did  not  look  the  lawyer  in  the  face,  he  answered 
coolly  enough:  ''That  is  my  name.  What  do  you 
want?" 

"I  see  yo\i  are  going  in,"  returned  the  lawyer.  **I 
am  an  old  friend  of  Dr.  Jekyll's  —  Mr.  Utterson  of  Gaunt 

295 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

Street — you  must  have  heard  my  name;  and  meeting 
you  so  conveniently,  I  thought  you  might  admit  me." 

"You  will  not  find  Dr.  Jekyll;  he  is  from  home," 
replied  Mr.  Hyde,  blow^ing  in  the  key.  And  then  sud- 
denly, but  still  without  looking  up,  "How  did  you 
know  me?"  he  asked. 

"  On  your  side,"  said  Mr.  Utterson,  "will  you  do  me 
a  favour  ?  " 

"With  pleasure,"  replied  the  other.  "What  shall 
it  be.?" 

"  Will  you  let  me  see  your  face  ?  "  asked  the  lawyer. 

Mr.  Hyde  appeared  to  hesitate,  and  then,  as  if  upon 
some  sudden  reflection,  fronted  about  with  an  air  of 
defiance ;  and  the  pair  stared  at  each  other  pretty  fixedly 
for  a  few  seconds.  "Now  I  shall  know  you  again," 
said  Mr.  Utterson.     "It  maybe  useful." 

"Yes,"  returned  Mr.  Hyde,  "it  is  as  well  we  have 
met ;  and  d  propos,  you  should  have  my  address. "  And 
he  gave  a  number  of  a  street  in  Soho. 

"Good  God!"  thought  Mr.  Utterson,  "can  he,  too, 
have  been  thinking  of  the  will  }  "  But  he  kept  his  feel- 
ings to  himself  and  only  grunted  in  acknowledgment 
of  the  address. 

'  'And  now, "  said  the  other, '  *  how  did  you  know  me .?  " 

"  By  description,"  was  the  reply. 

"Whose  description  ?  " 

"We  have  common  friends,"  said  Mr.  Utterson. 

"Common  friends.?"  echoed  Mr.  Hyde,  a  little 
hoarsely.     "Who  are  they.?" 

"Jekyll,  for  instance,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"He  never  told  you,"  cried  Mr.  Hyde, 'with  a  flush 
of  anger.     "1  did  not  think  you  would  have  lied." 

296 


SEARCH    FOR  MR.  HYDE 

"Come,"  said  Mr.  Utterson,  "that  is  not  fitting 
language." 

The  other  snarled  aloud  into  a  savage  laugh ;  and  the 
next  moment,  with  extraordinary  quickness,  he  had 
unlocked  the  door  and  disappeared  into  the  house. 

The  lawyer  stood  awhile  when  Mr.  Hyde  had  left 
him,  the  picture  of  disquietude.  Then  he  began  slowly 
to  mount  the  street,  pausing  every  step  or  two  and 
putting  his  hand  to  his  brow  like  a  man  in  mental  per- 
plexity. The  problem  he  was  thus  debating  as  he 
walked,  was  one  of  a  class  that  is  rarely  solved.  Mr. 
Hyde  was  pale  and  dwarfish,  he  gave  an  impression  of 
deformity  without  any  nameable  malformation,  he  had 
a  displeasing  smile,  he  had  borne  himself  to  the  lawyer 
with  a  sort  of  murderous  mixture  of  timidity  and  bold- 
ness, and  he  spoke  with  a  husky,  whispering  and  some- 
what broken  voice;  all  these  were  points  against  him, 
but  not  all  of  these  together  could  explain  the  hitherto 
unknown  disgust,  loathing  and  fear  with  which  Mr. 
Utterson  regarded  him.  "There  must  be  something 
else,"  said  the  perplexed  gentleman.  "  There  is  some- 
thing more,  if  I  could  find  a  name  for  it.  God  bless 
me,  the  man  seems  hardly  human !  Something  troglo- 
dytic,  shall  we  say  ?  or  can  it  be  the  old  story  of  Dr. 
Fell  ?  or  is  it  the  mere  radiance  of  a  foul  soul  that  thus 
transpires  through,  and  transfigures,  its  clay  continent  ? 
The  last,  I  think ;  for,  O  my  poor  old  Harry  Jekyll,  if 
ever  1  read  Satan's  signature  upon  a  face,  it  is  on  that 
of  your  new  friend." 

Round  the  corner  from  the  by-street,  there  was  a 
square  of  ancient,  handsome  houses,  now  for  the  most 
part  decayed  from  their  high  estate  and  let  in  flats  and 

297 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

chambers  to  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men :  map-en- 
gravers, architects,  shady  lawyers  and  the  agents  of 
obscure  enterprises.  One  house,  however,  second  from 
the  corner,  was  still  occupied  entire;  and  at  the  door 
of  this,  which  wore  a  great  air  of  wealth  and  comfort, 
though  it  was  now  plunged  in  darkness  except  for  the 
fanlight,  Mr.  Utterson  stopped  and  knocked.  A  well- 
dressed,  elderly  servant  opened  the  door. 

''Is  Dr.  Jekyll  at  home,  Poole  ? "  asked  the  lawyer. 

"I  will  see,  Mr.  Utterson,"  said  Poole,  admitting  the 
visitor,  as  he  spoke,  into  a  large,  low-roofed,  comfortable 
hall,  paved  with  flags,  warmed  (after  the  fashion  of  a 
country  house)  by  a  bright,  open  fire,  and  furnished 
with  costly  cabinets  of  oak.  "Will  you  wait  here  by 
the  fire,  sir  ?  or  shall  I  give  you  a  light  in  the  dining- 
room  ?  " 

"Here,  thank  you,"  said  the  lawyer,  and  he  drew 
near  and  leaned  on  the  tall  fender.  This  hall,  in  which 
he  was  now  left  alone,  was  a  pet  fancy  of  his  friend  the 
doctor's ;  and  Utterson  himself  was  wont  to  speak  of  it 
as  the  pleasantest  room  in  London.  But  to-night  there 
was  a  shudder  in  his  blood ;  the  face  of  Hyde  sat  heavy 
on  his  memory;  he  felt  (what  was  rare  with  him)  a 
nausea  and  distaste  of  life;  and  in  the  gloom  of  his 
spirits,  he  seemed  to  read  a  menace  in  the  flickering  of 
the  firelight  on  the  polished  cabinets  and  the  uneasy 
starting  of  the  shadow  on  the  roof  He  was  ashamed 
of  his  relief,  when  Poole  presently  returned  to  announce 
that  Dr.  Jekyll  was  gone  out. 

"I  saw  Mr.  Hyde  go  in  by  the  old  dissecting-room 
door,  Poole,"  he  said.  "  Is  that  right,  when  Dr.  Jekyll 
is  from  home  ?  " 

298 


SEARCH    FOR   MR.  HYDE 

"Quite  right,  Mr.  Utterson,  sir,"  replied  the  servant. 
"  Mr.  Hyde  has  a  key." 

*'  Your  master  seems  to  repose  a  great  deal  of  trust  in 
that  young  man,  Poole,"  resumed  the  other  musingly. 

"Yes,  sir,  he  do  indeed,"  said  Poole.  '*  We  have  all 
orders  to  obey  him." 

*M  do  not  think  1  ever  met  Mr.  Hyde.^"  asked  Ut- 
terson. 

"O,  dear  no,  sir.  He  never  dines  here,"  replied  the 
butler.  "  Indeed  we  see  very  little  of  him  on  this  side 
of  the  house;  he  mostly  comes  and  goes  by  the  labora- 
tory." 

"Well,  good-night,  Poole." 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Utterson." 

And  the  lawyer  set  out  homeward  with  a  very  heavy 
heart.  "Poor  Harry  Jekyll,"  he  thought,  "my  mind 
misgives  me  he  is  in  deep  waters!  He  was  wild  when 
he  was  young;  a  long  while  ago  to  be  sure;  but  in  the 
law  of  God,  there  is  no  statute  of  limitations.  Ay,  it 
must  be  that ;  the  ghost  of  some  old  sin,  the  cancer  of 
some  concealed  disgrace:  punishment  coming,  pede 
claudo,  years  after  memory  has  forgotten  and  self-love 
condoned  the  fault."  And  the  lawyer,  scared  by  the 
thought,  brooded  awhile  on  his  own  past,  groping  in 
all  the  corners  of  memory,  lest  by  chance  some  Jack-in- 
the-Box  of  an  old  iniquity  should  leap  to  light  there. 
His  past  was  fairly  blameless;  few  men  could  read  the 
rolls  of  their  life  with  less  apprehension;  yet  he  was 
humbled  to  the  dust  by  the  many  ill  things  he  had  done, 
and  raised  up  again  into  a  sober  and  fearful  gratitude  by 
the  many  that  he  had  come  so  near  to  doing,  yet  avoided. 
And  then  by  a  return  on  his  former  subject,  he  conceived 

299 


DR.  jEKYLL   AND   MR.  HYDE 

a  spark  of  hope.  **  This  Master  Hyde,  if  he  were  stud- 
ied," thought  he,  "  must  have  secrets  of  his  own ;  black 
secrets,  by  the  look  of  him ;  secrets  compared  to  which 
poor  Jekyll's  worst  would  be  like  sunshine.  Things 
cannot  continue  as  they  are.  It  turns  me  cold  to  think 
of  this  creature  stealing  like  a  thief  to  Harry's  bedside ; 
poor  Harry,  what  a  wakening!  And  the  danger  of  it; 
for  if  this  Hyde  suspects  the  existence  of  the  will,  he 
may  grow  impatient  to  inherit.  Ay,  I  must  put  my 
shoulder  to  the  wheel  —  if  Jekyll  will  but  let  me,"  he 
added,  "  if  Jekyll  will  only  let  me."  For  once  more  he 
saw  before  his  mind's  eye,  as  clear  as  a  transparency, 
the  strange  clauses  of  the  will. 


300 


DR.  JEKYLL  WAS  aUITE  AT  EASE 

A  FORTNIGHT  later,  by  excellent  good  fortune,  the  doc- 
tor gave  one  of  his  pleasant  dinners  to  some  five  or  six 
old  cronies,  all  intelligent,  reputable  men  and  all  judges 
of  good  wine ;  and  Mr.  Utterson  so  contrived  that  he 
remained  behind  after  the  others  had  departed.  This 
was  no  new  arrangement,  but  a  thing  that  had  befallen 
many  scores  of  times.  Where  Utterson  was  liked,  he 
was  liked  well.  Hosts  loved  to  detain  the  dry  lawyer, 
when  the  light-hearted  and  the  loose-tongued  had  al- 
ready their  foot  on  the  threshold ;  they  liked  to  sit  awhile 
in  his  unobtrusive  company,  practising  for  solitude, 
sobering  their  minds  in  the  man's  rich  silence  after  the 
expense  and  strain  of  gaiety.  To  this  rule.  Dr.  Jekyll 
was  no  exception ;  and  as  he  now  sat  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  fire — a  large,  well-made,  smooth-faced  man 
of  fifty,  with  something  of  a  slyish  cast  perhaps,  but 
every  mark  of  capacity  and  kindness  —  you  could  see 
by  his  looks  that  he  cherished  for  Mr.  Utterson  a  sincere 
and  warm  affection. 

"I  have  been  wanting  to  speak  to  you,  Jekyll,"  be- 
gan the  latter.     **  You  know  that  will  of  yours  ?  " 

A  close  observer  might  have  gathered  that  the  topic 
was  distasteful;   but  the  doctor  carried  it  off  gaily. 

301 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

"My  poor  Utterson,"  said  he,  ''you  are  unfortunate  in 
such  a  client.  I  never  saw  a  man  so  distressed  as  you 
were  by  my  will;  unless  it  were  that  hide-bound 
pedant,  Lanyon,  at  what  he  called  my  scientific  here- 
sies. O,  I  know  he's  a  good  fellow  —  you  needn't 
frown  —  an  excellent  fellow,  and  I  always  mean  to  see 
more  of  him;  but  a  hide-bound  pedant  for  all  that;  an 
ignorant,  blatant  pedant.  I  was  never  more  disap- 
pointed in  any  man  than  Lanyon." 

"  You  know  I  never  approved  of  it,"  pursued  Utter- 
son,  ruthlessly  disregarding  the  fresh  topic. 

**My  will.^  Yes,  certainly,  I  know  that,"  said  the 
doctor,  a  trifle  sharply.     '*  You  have  told  me  so." 

"Well,  I  tell  you  so  again,"  continued  the  lawyer. 
"  I  have  been  learning  something  of  young  Hyde." 

The  large  handsome  face  of  Dr.  jekyll  grew  pale  to 
the  very  lips,  and  there  came  a  blackness  about  his  eyes. 
"  I  do  not  care  to  hear  more,"  said  he.  "This  is  a 
matter  I  thought  we  had  agreed  to  drop. " 

"What  I  heard  was  abominable,"  said  Utterson. 

"It  can  make  no  change.  You  do  not  understand 
my  position,"  returned  the  doctor,  with  a  certain  in- 
coherency  of  manner.  "  1  am  painfully  situated,  Utter- 
son ;  my  position  is  a  very  strange  —  a  very  strange  one. 
It  is  one  of  those  affairs  that  cannot  be  mended  by 
talking." 

"Jekyll," said  Utterson,  "you  know  me:  I  am  a  man 
to  be  trusted.  Make  a  clean  breast  of  this  in  confidence ; 
and  I  make  no  doubt  I  can  get  you  out  of  it." 

"My  good  Utterson,"  said  the  doctor,  "this  is  very 
good  of  you,  this  is  downright  good  of  you,  and  I  can- 
not find  words  to  thank  you  in.     I  believe  you  fully ;  I 

302 


DR.  JEKYLL   WAS  QUITE  AT   EASE 

would  trust  you  before  any  man  alive,  ay,  before  my- 
self, if  I  could  make  the  choice;  but  indeed  it  isn't  what 
you  fancy;  it  is  not  so  bad  as  that;  and  just  to  put  your 
good  heart  at  rest,  I  will  tell  you  one  thing:  the  moment 
1  choose,  I  can  be  rid  of  Mr.  Hyde.  1  give  you  my 
hand  upon  that;  and  I  thank  you  again  and  again;  and 
I  will  just  add  one  little  word,  Utterson,  that  I'm  sure 
you'll  take  in  good  part :  this  is  a  private  matter,  and  I 
beg  of  you  to  let  it  sleep." 

Utterson  reflected  a  little,  looking  in  the  fire. 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  are  perfectly  right,"  he  said  at 
last,  getting  to  his  feet. 

"Well,  but  since  we  have  touched  upon  this  busi- 
ness, and  for  the  last  time  I  hope,"  continued  the  doctor, 
"there  is  one  point  I  should  like  you  to  understand.  I 
have  really  a  very  great  interest  in  poor  Hyde.  1  know 
you  have  seen  him ;  he  told  me  so ;  and  I  fear  he  was 
rude.  But  I  do  sincerely  take  a  great,  a  very  great  in- 
terest in  that  young  man;  and  if  I  am  taken  away, 
Utterson,  !  wish  you  to  promise  me  that  you  will  bear 
with  him  and  get  his  rights  for  him.  I  think  you  would, 
if  you  knew  all;  and  it  would  be  a  weight  off  my 
mind  if  you  would  promise." 

'*  I  can't  pretend  that  1  shall  ever  like  him,"  said  the 
lawyer. 

"I  don't  ask  that,"  pleaded  Jekyll,  laying  his  hand 
upon  the  other's  arm;  '*  I  only  ask  for  justice;  I  only 
ask  you  to  help  him  for  my  sake,  when  I  am  no  longer 
here." 

Utterson  heaved  an  irrepressible  sigh.  "  Well,"  said 
he,  "I  promise." 


y>3 


THE  CAREW  MURDER  CASE 

Nearly  a  year  later,  in  the  month  of  October,  i8 — , 
London  was  startled  by  a  crime  of  singular  ferocity  and 
rendered  all  the  more  notable  by  the  high  position  of 
the  victim.  The  details  were  few  and  startling.  A 
maid  servant  living  alone  in  a  house  not  far  from  the 
river,  had  gone  upstairs  to  bed  about  eleven.  Although 
a  fog  rolled  over  the  city  in  the  small  hours,  the  early 
part  of  the  night  was  cloudless,  and  the  lane,  which  the 
maid's  window  overlooked,  was  brilliantly  lit  by  the 
full  moon.  It  seems  she  was  romantically  given,  for 
she  sat  down  upon  her  box,  which  stood  immediately 
under  the  window,  and  fell  into  a  dream  of  musing. 
Never  (she  used  to  say,  with  streaming  tears,  when  she 
narrated  that  experience),  never  had  she  felt  more  at 
peace  with  all  men  or  thought  more  kindly  of  the  world. 
And  as  she  so  sat  she  became  aware  of  an  aged  and 
beautiful  gentleman  with  white  hair,  drawing  near 
along  the  lane;  and  advancing  to  meet  him,  another 
and  very  small  gentleman,  to  whom  at  first  she  paid 
less  attention.  When  they  had  come  within  speech 
(which  was  just  under  the  maid's  eyes)  the  older  man 
bowed  and  accosted  the  other  with  a  very  pretty  man- 
ner of  politeness.     It  did  not  seem  as  if  the  subject  of 

304 


THE  CAREW   MURDER   CASE 

his  address  were  of  great  importance ;  indeed,  from  his 
pointing,  it  sometimes  appeared  as  if  he  were  only  in- 
quiring his  way ;  but  the  moon  shone  on  his  face  as  he 
spoke,  and  the  girl  was  pleased  to  watch  it,  it  seemed 
to  breathe  such  an  innocent  and  old-world  kindness  of 
disposition,  yet  with  something  high  toe,  as  of  a  well- 
founded  self-content.  Presently  her  eye  wandered  to 
the  other,  and  she  was  surprised  to  recognise  in  him  a 
certain  Mr.  Hyde,  who  had  once  visited  her  master  and 
for  whom  she  had  conceived  a  dislike.  He  had  in  his 
hand  a  heavy  cane,  with  which  he  was  trifling;  but  he 
answered  never  a  word,  and  seemed  to  listen  with  an 
ill-contained  impatience.  And  then  all  of  a  sudden  he 
broke  out  in  a  great  flame  of  anger,  stamping  with  his 
foot,  brandishing  the  cane,  and  carrying  on  (as  the  maid 
described  it)  like  a  madman.  The  old  gentleman  took 
a  step  back,  with  the  air  of  one  very  much  surprised 
and  a  trifle  hurt ;  and  at  that  Mr.  Hyde  broke  out  of  all 
bounds  and  clubbed  him  to  the  earth.  And  next  mo- 
ment, with  ape-like  fury,  he  was  trampling  his  victim 
under  foot  and  hailing  down  a  storm  of  blows,  under 
which  the  bones  were  audibly  shattered  and  the  body 
jumped  upon  the  roadway.  At  the  horror  of  these 
sights  and  sounds,  the  maid  fainted. 

It  was  two  o'clock  when  she  came  to  herself  and 
called  for  the  police.  The  murderer  was  gone  long  ago ; 
but  there  lay  his  victim  in  the  middle  of  the  lane,  in- 
credibly mangled.  The  stick  with  which  the  deed  had 
been  done,  although  it  was  of  some  rare  and  very  tough 
and  heavy  wood,  had  broken  in  the  middle  under  the 
stress  of  this  insensate  cruelty ;  and  one  splintered  half 
had  rolled  in  the  neighbouring  gutter — the  other,  with- 

305 


DR.  JEKYLL   AND   MR.  HYDE 

out  doubt,  had  been  carried  away  by  the  murderer.  A 
purse  and  a  gold  watch  were  found  upon  the  victim : 
but  no  cards  or  papers,  except  a  sealed  and  stamped 
envelope,  which  he  had  been  probably  carrying  to  the 
post,  and  which  bore  the  name  and  address  of  Mr. 
Utterson. 

This  was  brought  to  the  lawyer  the  next  morning, 
before  he  was  out  of  bed ;  and  he  had  no  sooner  seen  it, 
and  been  told  the  circumstances,  than  he  shot  out  a 
solemn  lip.  "I  shall  say  nothing  till  I  have  seen  the 
body,"  said  he;  *' this  may  be  very  serious.  Have  the 
kindness  to  wait  while  I  dress."  And  with  the  same 
grave  countenance  he  hurried  through  his  breakfast  and 
drove  to  the  police  station,  whither  the  body  had  been 
carried.     As  soon  as  he  came  into  the  cell,  he  nodded. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  *'  I  recognise  him.  I  am  sorry  to  say 
that  this  is  Sir  Danvers  Carew." 

"Good  God,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  officer,  "is  it  pos- 
sible ?  "  And  the  next  moment  his  eye  lighted  up  with 
professional  ambition.  "This  will  make  a  deal  of  noise," 
he  said.  "  And  perhaps  you  can  help  us  to  the  man." 
And  he  briefly  narrated  what  the  maid  had  seen,  and 
showed  the  broken  stick. 

Mr.  Utterson  had  already  quailed  at  the  name  of  Hyde; 
but  when  the  stick  was  laid  before  him,  he  could  doubt 
no  longer;  broken  and  battered  as  it  was,  he  recognised 
it  for  one  that  he  had  himself  presented  many  years  be- 
fore to  Henry  Jekyll. 

"Is  this  Mr.  Hyde  a  person  of  small  stature.?"  he 
inquired. 

"Particularly  small  and  particularly  wicked-looking, 
is  what  the  maid  calls  him,"  said  the  officer. 

306 


THE  CAREW   MURDER   CASE 

Mr.  Utterson  reflected;  and  then,  raising  his  head, ''If 
you  will  come  with  me  in  my  cab,"  he  said,  **  I  think  I 
can  take  you  to  his  house." 

It  was  by  this  time  about  nine  in  the  morning,  and 
the  first  fog  of  the  season.  A  great  chocolate-coloured 
pall  lowered  over  heaven,  but  the  wind  was  continually 
charging  and  routing  these  embattled  vapours ;  so  that 
as  the  cab  crawled  from  street  to  street,  Mr.  Utterson 
beheld  a  marvellous  number  of  degrees  and  hues  of  twi- 
light; for  here  it  would  be  dark  like  the  back-end  of 
evening;  and  there  would  be  a  glow  of  a  rich,  lurid 
brown,  like  the  light  of  some  strange  conflagration ;  and 
here,  for  a  moment,  the  fog  would  be  quite  broken  up, 
and  a  haggard  shaft  of  daylight  would  glance  in  between 
the  swirling  wreaths.  The  dismal  quarter  of  Soho  seen 
under  these  changing  glimpses,  with  its  muddy  ways, 
and  slatternly  passengers,  and  its  lamps,  which  had 
never  been  extinguished  or  had  been  kindled  afresh  to 
combat  this  mournful  relnvasion  of  darkness,  seemed, 
in  the  lawyer's  eyes,  like  a  district  of  some  city  in  a 
nightmare.  The  thoughts  of  his  mind,  besides,  were 
of  the  gloomiest  dye;  and  when  he  glanced  at  the  com- 
panion of  his  drive,  he  was  conscious  of  some  touch  of 
that  terror  of  the  law  and  the  law's  officers,  which  may 
at  times  assail  the  most  honest. 

As  the  cab  drew  up  before  the  address  indicated,  the 
fog  lifted  a  little  and  showed  him  a  dingy  street,  a  gin 
palace,  a  low  French  eating  house,  a  shop  for  the  retail 
of  penny  numbers  and  twopenny  salads,  many  ragged 
children  huddled  in  the  doorways,  and  many  women 
of  many  different  nationalities  passing  out,  key  in  hand, 
to  have  a  morning  glass ;  and  the  next  moment  the  fog 

307 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

settled  down  again  upon  that  part,  as  brown  as  umber, 
and  cut  him  off  from  his  blackguardly  surroundings. 
This  was  the  home  of  Henry  Jekyll's  favourite;  of  a  man 
who  was  heir  to  quarter  of  a  million  sterling. 

An  ivory-faced  and  silvery-haired  old  woman  opened 
the  door.  She  had  an  evil  face,  smoothed  by  hypocrisy ; 
but  her  manners  were  excellent.  Yes,  she  said,  this  was 
Mr.  Hyde's,  but  he  was  not  at  home;  he  had  been  in 
that  night  very  late,  but  had  gone  away  again  in  less 
than  an  hour;  there  was  nothing  strange  in  that;  his 
habits  were  very  irregular,  and  he  was  often  absent ;  for 
instance,  it  was  nearly  two  months  since  she  had  seen 
him  till  yesterday. 

"Very  well,  then,  we  wish  to  see  his  rooms,"  said 
the  lawyer ;  and  when  the  woman  began  to  declare  it 
was  impossible,  **  I  had  better  tell  you  who  this  person 
is,"  he  added.  **  This  is  Inspector  Newcomen  of  Scot- 
land Yard." 

A  flash  of  odious  joy  appeared  upon  the  woman's  face. 
"Ah!"  said  she,  "he  is  in  trouble!  What  has  he 
done  ?  " 

Mr.  Utterson  and  the  inspector  exchanged  glances. 
"  He  don't  seem  a  very  popular  character,"  observed  the 
latter.  "And  now,  my  good  woman,  just  let  me  and 
this  gentleman  have  a  look  about  us." 

In  the  whole  extent  of  the  house,  which  but  for  the 
old  woman  remained  otherwise  empty,  Mr.  Hyde  had 
only  used  a  couple  of  rooms ;  but  these  were  furnished 
with  luxury  and  good  taste.  A  closet  was  filled  with 
wine ;  the  plate  was  of  silver,  the  napery  elegant;  a  good 
picture  hung  upon  the  walls,  a  gift  (as  Utterson  sup- 
posed) from  Henry  Jekyll,  who  was  much  of  a  connois- 

308 


THE  CAREW   MURDER  CASE 

seur;  and  the  carpets  were  of  many  plies  and  agreeable 
in  colour.  At  this  moment,  however,  the  rooms  bore 
every  mark  of  having  been  recently  and  hurriedly  ran- 
sacked ;  clothes  lay  about  the  floor,  with  their  pockets 
inside  out;  lock-fast  drawers  stood  open;  and  on  the 
hearth  there  lay  a  pile  of  gray  ashes,  as  though  many 
papers  had  been  burned.  From  these  embers  the  in- 
spector disinterred  the  butt  end  of  a  green  cheque  book, 
which  had  resisted  the  action  of  the  fire;  the  other  half 
of  the  stick  was  found  behind  the  door;  and  as  this 
clinched  his  suspicions,  the  officer  declared  himself  de- 
lighted. A  visit  to  the  bank,  where  several  thousand 
pounds  were  found  to  be  lying  to  the  murderer's  credit, 
completed  his  gratification. 

''You  may  depend  upon  it,  sir,"  he  told  Mr.  Utter- 
son:  **  I  have  him  in  my  hand.  He  must  have  lost  his 
head,  or  he  never  would  have  left  the  stick  or,  above  all, 
burned  the  cheque  book.  Why,  money's  life  to  the 
man.  We  have  nothing  to  do  but  wait  for  him  at  the 
bank,  and  get  out  the  handbills." 

This  last,  however,  was  not  so  easy  of  accomplish- 
ment ;  for  Mr.  Hyde  had  numbered  few  familiars  —  even 
the  master  of  the  servant  maid  had  only  seen  him  twice; 
his  family  could  nowhere  be  traced ;  he  had  never  been 
photographed ;  and  the  few  who  could  describe  him  dif- 
fered widely,  as  common  observers  will.  Only  on  one 
point,  were  they  agreed;  and  that  was  the  haunting 
sense  of  unexpressed  deformity  with  which  the  fugitive 
impressed  his  beholders. 


^ 


INCIDENT  OF  THE  LETTER 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  when  Mr.  Utterson 
found  his  way  to  Dr.  Jekyll's  door,  where  he  was  at  once 
admitted  by  Poole,  and  carried  down  by  the  kitchen 
offices  and  across  a  yard  which  had  once  been  a  garden, 
to  the  building  which  was  indifferently  known  as  the 
laboratory  or  the  dissecting  rooms.  The  doctor  had 
bought  the  house  from  the  heirs  of  a  celebrated  sur- 
geon; and  his  own  tastes  b^ing  rather  chemical  than 
anatomical,  had  changed  the  destination  of  the  block  at 
the  bottom  of  the  garden.  It  was  the  first  time  that  the 
lawyer  had  been  received  in  that  part  of  his  friend's 
quarters ;  and  he  eyed  the  dingy,  windowless  structure 
with  curiosity,  and  gazed  round  with  a  distasteful  sense 
of  strangeness  as  he  crossed  the  theatre,  once  crowded 
with  eager  students  and  now  lying  gaunt  and  silent,  the 
tables  laden  with  chemical  apparatus,  the  floor  strewn 
with  crates  and  littered  with  packing  straw,  and  the 
light  falling  dimly  through  the  foggy  cupola.  At  the 
further  end,  a  flight  of  stairs  mounted  to  a  door  covered 
with  red  baize;  and  through  this,  Mr.  Utterson  was  at 
last  received  into  the  doctor's  cabinet.  It  was  a  large 
room,  fitted  round  with  glass  presses,  furnished,  among 
other  things,  with  a  cheval-glass  and  a  business  table, 

310 


INCIDENT  OF  THE   LETTER 

and  looking  out  upon  the  court  by  three  dusty  windows 
barred  with  iron.  A  fire  burned  in  the  grate;  a  lamp 
was  set  lighted  on  the  chimney  shelf,  for  even  in  the 
houses  the  fog  began  to  lie  thickly ;  and  there,  close  up 
to  the  warmth,  sat  Dr.  Jekyll,  looking  deadly  sick.  He 
did  not  rise  to  meet  his  visitor,  but  held  out  a  cold  hand 
and  bade  him  welcome  in  a  changed  voice. 

"  And  now,"  said  Mr.  Utterson,  as  soon  as  Poole  had 
left  them,  "  you  have  heard  the  news  ?" 

The  doctor  shuddered.  **They  were  crying  it  in 
the  square,"  he  said.  "I  heard  them  in  my  dining- 
room." 

*  *  One  word, "  said  the  lawyer.    *  *  Carew  was  my  cli 
ent,  but  so  are  you,  and  I  want  to  know  what  I  am 
doing.     You  have  not  been  mad  enough  to  hide  this 
fellow  ?  " 

"Utterson,  I  swear  to  God,"  cried  the  doctor,  "I 
swear  to  God  I  will  never  set  eyes  on  him  again.  I  bind 
my  honour  to  you  that  I  am  done  with  him  in  this 
world.  It  is  all  at  an  end.  And  indeed  he  does  not 
want  my  help;  you  do  not  know  him  as  I  do;  he  is 
safe,  he  is  quite  safe;  mark  my  words,  he  will  never 
more  be  heard  of." 

The  lawyer  listened  gloomily;  he  did  not  like  his 
friend's  feverish  manner.  "You  seem  pretty  sure  of 
him,"  said  he;  "  and  for  your  sake,  I  hope  you  may  be 
right.     If  it  came  to  a  trial,  your  name  might  appear." 

"I  am  quite  sure  of  him,"  replied  Jekyll;  "I  have 
grounds  for  certainty  that  I  cannot  share  with  anyone. 
But  there  is  one  thing  on  which  you  may  advise  me.  I 
have  —  I  have  received  a  letter;  and  I  am  at  a  loss 
whether  I  should  show  it  to  the  police.     I  should  like 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

to  leave  it  in  your  hands,  Utterson ;  you  would  judge 
wisely,  I  am  sure;  I  have  so  great  a  trust  in  you." 

''You  fear,  I  suppose,  that  it  might  lead  to  his  detec- 
tion ?  "  asked  the  lawyer. 

''  No,"  said  the  other.  **  I  cannot  say  that  I  care  what 
becomes  of  Hyde;  I  am  quite  done  with  him.  I  was 
thinking  of  my  own  character,  which  this  hateful  busi- 
ness has  rather  exposed." 

Utterson  ruminated  awhile;  he  was  surprised  at  his 
friend's  selfishness,  and  yet  relieved  by  it.  "  Well,"  said 
he,  at  last,  "  let  me  see  the  letter." 

The  letter  was  written  in  an  odd,  upright  hand  and 
signed  "Edward  Hyde  " :  and  it  signified,  briefly  enough, 
that  the  writer's  benefactor.  Dr.  Jekyll,  whom  he  had 
long  so  unworthily  repaid  for  a  thousand  generosities, 
need  labour  under  no  alarm  for  his  safety,  as  he  had 
means  of  escape  on  which  he  placed  a  sure  dependence. 
The  lawyer  liked  this  letter  well  enough ;  it  put  a  better 
colour  on  the  intimacy  than  he  had  looked  for;  and  he 
blamed  himself  for  some  of  his  past  suspicions. 

"  Have  you  the  envelope  ?  "  he  asked. 

**I  burned  it,"  replied  Jekyll,  **  before  I  thought  what 
I  was  about.  But  it  bore  no  postmark.  The  note  was 
handed  in." 

*'  Shall  I  keep  this  and  sleep  upon  it  ?  "  asked  Utterson. 

"  I  wish  you  to  judge  for  me  entirely,"  was  the  reply. 
*'I  have  lost  confidence  in  myself" 

*'  Well,  I  shall  consider,"  returned  the  lawyer.  ''And 
now  one  word  more:  it  was  Hyde  who  dictated  the 
terms  in  your  will  about  that  disappearance  }  " 

The  doctor  seemed  seized  with  a  qualm  of  faintness; 
he  shut  his  mouth  tight  and  nodded. 

312 


INCIDENT  OF  THE   LETTER 

"I  knew  it,"  said  Utterson.  "He  meant  to  murder 
you.     You  have  had  a  fine  escape." 

"I  have  had  what  is  far  more  to  the  purpose,"  re- 
turned the  doctor  solemnly:  "I  have  had  a  lesson  —  O 
God,  Utterson,  what  a  lesson  I  have  had!"  And  he 
covered  his  face  for  a  moment  with  his  hands. 

On  his  way  out,  the  lawyer  stopped  and  had  a  word 
or  two  with  Poole.  *  *  By  the  bye, "  said  he,  *  *  there  was 
a  letter  handed  in  to-day:  what  was  the  messenger 
like  ?  "  But  Poole  was  positive  nothing  had  come  ex- 
cept by  post;  **and  only  circulars  by  that,"  he  added. 

This  news  sent  off  the  visitor  with  his  fears  renewed. 
Plainly  the  letter  had  come  by  the  laboratory  door;  pos- 
sibly, indeed,  it  had  been  written  in  the  cabinet;  and  if 
that  were  so,  it  must  be  differently  judged,  and  handled 
with  the  more  caution.  The  newsboys,  as  he  went,  were 
crying  themselves  hoarse  along  the  footways:  "Special 
edition.  Shocking  murder  of  an  M.  P."  That  was  the 
funeral  oration  of  one  friend  and  client;  and  he  could 
not  help  a  certain  apprehension  lest  the  good  name  of 
another  should  be  sucked  down  in  the  eddy  of  the  scan- 
dal. It  was,  at  least,  a  ticklish  decision  that  he  had  to 
make ;  and  self-reliant  as  he  was  by  habit,  he  began  to 
cherish  a  longing  for  advice.  It  was  not  to  be  had  di- 
rectly ;  but  perhaps,  he  thought,  it  might  be  fished  for. 

Presently  after,  he  sat  on  one  side  of  his  own  hearth, 
with  Mr.  Guest,  his  head  clerk,  upon  the  other,  and 
midway  between,  at  a  nicely  calculated  distance  from 
the  fire,  a  bottle  of  a  particular  old  wine  that  had  long 
dwelt  unsunned  in  the  foundations  of  his  house.  The 
fog  still  slept  on  the  wing  above  the  drowned  city, 
where    the    lamps   glimmered    like    carbuncles;    and 

3>3 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.   HYDE 

through  the  muffle  and  smother  of  these  fallen  clouds, 
the  procession  of  the  town's  life  was  still  rolling  in 
through  the  great  arteries  with  a  sound  as  of  a  mighty 
wind.  But  the  room  was  gay  with  firelight.  In  the 
bottle  the  acids  were  long  ago  resolved;  the  imperial 
dye  had  softened  with  time,  as  the  colour  grows  richer 
in  stained  windows ;  and  the  glow  of  hot  autumn  after- 
noons on  hillside  vineyards,  was  ready  to  be  set  free  and 
to  disperse  the  fogs  of  London.  Insensibly  the  lawyer 
melted.  There  was  no  man  from  whom  he  kept  fewer 
secrets  than  Mr.  Guest;  and  he  was  not  always  sure 
that  he  kept  as  many  as  he  meant.  Guest  had  often 
been  on  business  to  the  doctor's;  he  knew  Poole;  he 
could  scarce  have  failed  to  hear  of  Mr.  Hyde's  familiar- 
ity about  the  house;  he  might  draw  conclusions:  was 
it  not  as  well,  then,  that  he  should  see  a  letter  which 
put  that  mystery  to  rights  ?  and  above  all  since  Guest, 
being  a  great  student  and  critic  of  handwriting,  would 
consider  the  step  natural  and  obliging.?  The  clerk, 
besides,  was  a  man  of  counsel ;  he  would  scarce  read  so 
strange  a  document  without  dropping  a  remark;  and 
by  that  remark  Mr.  Utterson  might  shape  his  future 
course. 

"This  is  a  sad  business  about  Sir  Danvers,"  he  said. 

''Yes,  sir,  indeed.  It  has  elicited  a  great  deal  of 
public  feeling,"  returned  Guest.  "The  man,  of  course, 
was  mad." 

"I  should  like  to  hear  your  views  on  that,"  replied 
Utterson.  "I  have  a  document  here  in  his  handwrit- 
ing; it  is  between  ourselves,  for  I  scarce  know  what  to 
do  about  it;  it  is  an  ugly  business  at  the  best.  But 
there  it  is;  quite  in  your  way:  a  murderer's  autograph." 

314 


INCIDENT   OF  THE   LETTER 

Guest's  eyes  brightened,  and  he  sat  down  at  once 
and  studied  it  with  passion.  "No,  sir,"  he  said:  "not 
mad;  but  it  is  an  odd  hand." 

"  And  by  all  accounts  a  very  odd  writer,"  added  the 
lawyer. 

Just  then  the  servant  entered  with  a  note. 

"Is  that  from  Dr.  Jekyll,  sir.^"  inquired  the  clerk. 
"I  thought  I  knew  the  writing.  Anything  private, 
Mr.  Utterson?" 

' '  Only  an  invitation  to  dinner.  Why  }  Do  you  want 
to  see  it  ?  " 

"One  moment.  I  thank  you,  sir;"  and  the  clerk 
laid  the  two  sheets  of  paper  alongside  and  sedulously 
compared  their  contents.  "Thank  you,  sir,"  he  said  at 
last,  returning  both;  "it's  a  very  interesting  autograph." 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Mr.  Utterson  strug- 
gled with  himself  "Why  did  you  compare  them, 
Guest.?"  he  inquired  suddenly. 

"Well,  sir,"  returned  the  clerk,  "there's  a  rather 
singular  resemblance ;  the  two  hands  are  in  many  points 
identical:  only  differently  sloped." 

"  Rather  quaint,"  said  Utterson. 

"It  is,  as  you  say,  rather  quaint,"  returned  Guest. 

"1  wouldn't  speak  of  this  note,  you  know,"  said  the 
master. 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  clerk.     "  I  understand." 

But  no  sooner  was  Mr.  Utterson  alone  that  night  than 
he  locked  the  note  into  his  safe,  where  it  reposed  from 
that  time  forward.  "What!"  he  thought.  "Henry 
Jekyll  forge  for  a  murderer!"  And  his  blood  ran  cold 
in  his  veins. 


3»5 


REMARKABLE  INCIDENT  OF  DR.   LANYON 

Time  ran  on ;  thousands  of  pounds  were  offered  in 
reward,  for  the  death  of  Sir  Danvers  was  resented  as  a 
public  injury ;  but  Mr.  Hyde  had  disappeared  out  of  the 
ken  of  the  police  as  though  he  had  never  existed.  Much 
of  his  past  was  unearthed,  indeed,  and  all  disreputable : 
tales  came  out  of  the  man's  cruelty,  at  once  so  callous 
and  violent;  of  his  vile  life,  of  his  strange  associates, 
of  the  hatred  that  seemed  to  have  surrounded  his  career; 
but  of  his  present  whereabouts,  not  a  whisper.  From 
the  time  he  had  left  the  house  in  Soho  on  the  morning 
of  the  murder,  he  was  simply  blotted  out;  and  grad- 
ually, as  time  drew  on,  Mr.  Utterson  began  to  recover 
from  the  hotness  of  his  alarm,  and  to  grow  more  at 
quiet  with  himself  The  death  of  Sir  Danvers  was,  to 
his  way  of  thinking,  more  than  paid  for  by  the  disap- 
pearance of  Mr.  Hyde.  Now  that  that  evil  influence 
had  been  withdrawn,  a  new  life  began  for  Dr.  Jekyll. 
He  came  out  of  his  seclusion,  renewed  relations  with 
his  friends,  became  once  more  their  familiar  guest  and 
entertainer;  and  whilst  he  had  always  been  known  for 
charities,  he  was  now  no  less  distinguished  for  religion. 
He  was  busy,  he  was  much  in  the  open  air,  he  did  good ; 
his  face  seemed  to  open  and  brighten,  as  if  with  an  in- 

316 


REMARKABLE   INCIDENT   OF   DR.  LAN  YON 

ward  consciousness  of  service ;  and  for  more  than  two 
months,  the  doctor  was  at  peace. 

On  the  8th  of  January  Utterson  had  dined  at  the  doc- 
tor's with  a  small  party;  Lanyon  had  been  there;  and 
the  face  of  the  host  had  looked  from  one  to  the  other  as 
in  the  old  days  when  the  trio  were  inseparable  friends. 
On  the  1 2th,  and  again  on  the  14th,  the  door  was  shut 
against  the  lawyer.  "  The  doctor  was  confined  to  the 
house,"  Poole  said,  "and  saw  no  one."  On  the  15th, 
he  tried  again,  and  was  again  refused ;  and  having  now 
been  used  for  the  last  two  months  to  see  his  friend  almost 
daily,  he  found  this  return  of  solitude  to  weigh  upon  his 
spirits.  The  fifth  night  he  had  in  Guest  to  dine  with 
him ;  and  the  sixth  he  betook  himself  to  Dr.  Lanyon's. 

There  at  least  he  was  not  denied  admittance;  but 
when  he  came  in,  he  was  shocked  at  the  change  which 
had  taken  place  in  the  doctor's  appearance.  He  had  his 
death-warrant  written  legibly  upon  his  face.  The  rosy 
man  had  grown  pale ;  his  flesh  had  fallen  away ;  he  was 
visibly  balder  and  older;  and  yet  it  was  not  so  much 
these  tokens  of  a  swift  physical  decay  that  arrested  the 
lawyer's  notice,  as  a  look  in  the  eye  and  quality  of 
manner  that  seemed  to  testify  to  some  deep-seated  ter- 
ror of  the  mind.  It  was  unlikely  that  the  doctor  should 
fear  death;  and  yet  that  was  what  Utterson  was  tempted 
to  suspect.  **Yes,"  he  thought;  "he  is  a  doctor,  he 
must  know  his  own  state  and  that  his  days  are  counted ; 
and  the  knowledge  is  more  than  he  can  bear."  And 
yet  when  Utterson  remarked  on  his  ill-looks,  it  was 
with  an  air  of  great  firmness  that  Lanyon  declared  him- 
self a  doomed  man. 

"I  have  had  a  shock,"  he  said,  "and  I  shall  never 
3»7 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

recover.  It  is  a  question  of  weeks.  Well,  life  has  been- 
pleasant;  I  liked  it;  yes,  sir,  I  used  to  like  it.  I  some- 
times think  if  we  knew  all,  we  should  be  more  glad  to 
get  away." 

''Jekyll  is  ill,  too,"  observed  Utterson.  ''Have  you 
seen  him  ?  " 

But  Lanyon's  face  changed,  and  he  held  up  a  trem- 
bling hand.  "I  wish  to  see  or  hear  no  more  of  Dr. 
Jekyll,"  he  said  in  a  loud,  unsteady  voice.  **  I  am  quite 
done  with  that  person ;  and  1  beg  that  you  will  spare 
me  any  allusion  to  one  whom  I  regard  as  dead." 

*' Tut-tut,"  said  Mr.  Utterson;  and  then  after  a  con- 
siderable pause,  ''Can't  I  do  anything .? "  he  inquired. 
"We  are  three  very  old  friends,  Lanyon;  we  shall  not 
live  to  make  others." 

"Nothing  can  be  done,"  returned  Lanyon;  "ask 
himself" 

"  He  will  not  see  me,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"I  am  not  surprised  at  that,"  was  the  reply.  "Some 
day,  Utterson,  after  I  am  dead,  you  may  perhaps  come 
to  learn  the  right  and  wrong  of  this.  I  cannot  tell  you. 
And  in  the  meantime,  if  you  can  sit  and  talk  with  me 
of  other  things,  for  God's  sake,  stay  and  do  so;  but  if 
you  cannot  keep  clear  of  this  accursed  topic,  then,  in 
God's  name,  go,  for  I  cannot  bear  it." 

As  soon  as  he  got  home,  Utterson  sat  down  and 
wrote  to  Jekyll,  complaining  of  his  exclusion  from  the 
house,  and  asking  the  cause  of  this  unhappy  break  with 
Lanyon ;  and  the  next  day  brought  him  a  long  answer, 
often  very  pathetically  worded,  and  sometimes  darkly 
mysterious  in  drift.  The  quarrel  with  Lanyon  was  in- 
curable.    "  I  do  not  blame  our  old  friend, "  Jekyll  wrote, 

^!8 


REMARKABLE   INCIDENT   OF   DR.  LANYON 

"but  I  share  his  view  that  we  must  never  meet.  \ 
mean  from  henceforth  to  lead  a  life  of  extreme  seclu- 
sion ;  you  must  not  be  surprised,  nor  must  you  doubt 
my  friendship,  if  my  door  is  often  shut  even  to  you. 
You  must  suffer  me  to  go  my  own  dark  way.  I  have 
brought  on  myself  a  punishment  and  a  danger  that  I 
cannot  name.  If  I  am  the  chief  of  sinners,  I  am  the 
chief  of  sufferers  also.  1  could  not  think  that  this  earth 
contained  a  place  for  sufferings  and  terrors  so  unman- 
ning; and  you  can  do  but  one  thing,  Utterson,  ia 
lighten  this  destiny,  and  that  is  to  respect  my  silence." 
Utterson  was  amazed ;  the  dark  influence  of  Hyde  had 
been  withdrawn,  the  doctor  had  returned  to  his  old 
tasks  and  amities;  a  week  ago,  the  prospect  had  smiled 
with  every  promise  of  a  cheerful  and  an  honoured  age ; 
and  now  in  a  moment,  friendship,  and  peace  of  mind, 
and  the  whole  tenor  of  his  life  were  wrecked.  So  great 
and  unprepared  a  change  pointed  to  madness;  but  in 
view  of  Lanyon's  manner  and  words,  there  must  lie  for 
it  some  deeper  ground. 

A  week  afterwards  Dr.  Lanyon  took  to  his  bed,  and 
in  something  less  than  a  fortnight  he  was  dead.  The 
night  after  the  funeral,  at  which  he  had  been  sadly 
affecied,  Utterson  locked  the  door  of  his  business  room, 
and  sitting  there  by  the  light  of  a  melancholy  candle, 
drew  out  and  set  before  him  an  envelope  addressed  by 
the  hand  and  sealed  with  the  seal  of  his  dead  friend. 
"  Private:  for  the  hands  of  G.  J.  Utterson  alone,  and 
in  case  of  his  predecease  to  be  destroyed  unread, "  so  it 
was  emphatically  superscribed;  and  the  lawyer  dreaded 
to  behold  the  contents.  **  I  have  buried  one  friend  to- 
day," he  thought:  "what  if  this  should  cost  me  an 

3'9 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

Other?"  And  then  he  condemned  the  fear  as  a  dis- 
loyalty, and  broke  the  seal.  Within  there  was  another 
enclosure,  likewise  sealed,  and  marked  upon  the  cover 
as  ''not  to  be  opened  till  the  death  or  disappearance  of 
Dr.  Henry  Jekyll."  Utterson  could  not  trust  his  eyes. 
Yes,  it  was  disappearance;  here  again,  as  in  the  mad  will 
which  he  had  long  ago  restored  to  its  author,  here  again 
were  the  idea  of  a  disappearance  and  the  name  of  Henry 
Jekyll  bracketted.  But  in  the  will,  that  idea  had  sprung 
from  the  sinister  suggestion  of  the  man  Hyde ;  it  was 
set  there  with  a  purpose  all  too  plain  and  horrible. 
Written  by  the  hand  of  Lanyon,  what  should  it  mean  ? 
A  great  curiosity  came  on  the  trustee,  to  disregard  the 
prohibition  and  dive  at  once  to  the  bottom  of  these 
mysteries ;  but  professional  honour  and  faith  to  his  dead 
friend  were  stringent  obligations ;  and  the  packet  slept 
in  the  inmost  corner  of  his  private  safe. 

It  is  one  thing  to  mortify  curiosity,  another  to  conquer 
it;  and  it  may  be  doubted  if,  from  that  day  forth,  Utter- 
son  desired  the  society  of  his  surviving  friend  with  the 
same  eagerness.  He  thought  of  him  kindly;  but  his 
thoughts  were  disquieted  and  fearful.  He  went  to  call 
indeed;  but  he  was  perhaps  relieved  to  be  denied  ad- 
mittance; perhaps,  in  his  heart,  he  preferred  to  speak 
with  Poole  upon  the  doorstep  and  surrounded  by  the 
air  and  sounds  of  the  open  city,  rather  than  to  be  ad- 
mitted into  that  house  of  voluntary  bondage,  and  to 
sit  and  speak  with  its  inscrutable  recluse.  Poole  had, 
indeed,  no  very  pleasant  news  to  communicate.  The 
doctor,  it  appeared,  now  more  than  ever  confined  him- 
self to  the  cabinet  over  the  laboratory,  where  he  would 
sometimes  even  sleep;  he  was  out  of  spirits,  he  had 

320 


REMARKABLE   INCIDENT   OF   DR.   LANYON 

grown  very  silent,  he  did  not  read;  it  seemed  as  if 
he  had  something  on  his  mind.  Utterson  became  so 
used  to  the  unvarying  character  of  these  reports,  that 
he  fell  off  little  by  little  in  the  frequency  of  his  visits. 


!•» 


INCIDENT  AT  THE  WINDOW 

It  chanced  on  Sunday,  when  Mr.  Utterson  was  on  his 
usual  walk  with  Mr.  Enfield,  that  their  way  lay  once 
again  through  the  by-street;  and  that  when  they  came 
in  front  of  the  door,  both  stopped  to  gaze  on  it. 

*'  Well,"  said  Enfield,  ''that  story's  at  an  end  at  least. 
We  shall  never  see  more  of  Mr.  Hyde." 

"1  hope  not,"  said  Utterson.  "Did  I  ever  tell  you 
that  I  once  saw  him,  and  shared  your  feeling  of  repul- 
sion?" 

''It  was  impossible  to  do  the  one  without  the  other," 
returned  Enfield.  "And  by  the  way,  what  an  ass  you 
must  have  thought  me,  not  to  know  that  this  was  a 
back  way  to  Dr.  Jekyll's !  It  was  partly  your  own  fault 
that  I  found  it  out,  even  when  I  did." 

"So  you  found  it  out,  did  you.^"  said  Utterson. 
"  But  if  that  be  so,  we  may  step  into  the  court  and 
take  a  look  at  the  windows.  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
1  am  uneasy  about  poor  Jekyll;  and  even  outside,  I 
feel  as  if  the  presence  of  a  friend  might  do  him  good." 

The  court  was  very  cool  and  a  little  damp,  and  full 
of  premature  twilight,  although  the  sky,  high  up  over- 
head, was  still  bright  with  sunset.  The  middle  one 
of  the  three  windows  was  half  way  open ;  and  sitting 

32-: 


INCIDENT   AT   THE   WINDOW 

close  beside  it,  taking  the  air  with  an  infinite  sadness  of 
mien,  like  some  disconsolate  prisoner,  Utterson  saw 
Dr.  Jekyll. 

"What!  Jekyll!  "  he  cried.   "I  trust  you  are  better." 

"  I  am  very  low,  Utterson,"  replied  the  doctor,  drea- 
rily, "  very  low.    It  will  not  last  long,  thank  God." 

'*You  stay  too  much  indoors,"  said  the  lawyer. 
**  You  should  be  out,  whipping  up  the  circulation  like 
Mr.  Enfield  and  me.  (This  is  my  cousin  —  Mr.  Enfield 
—  Dr.  Jekyll.)  Come  now;  get  your  hat  and  take  a 
quick  turn  with  us." 

"You  are  very  good,"  sighed  the  other.  "I  should 
like  to  very  much;  but  no,  no,  no,  it  is  quite  impos- 
sible; 1  dare  not.  But  indeed,  Utterson,  I  am  very 
glad  to  see  you ;  this  is  really  a  great  pleasure ;  I  would 
ask  you  and  Mr.  Enfield  up,  but  the  place  is  really  not 
fit." 

"Why  then,"  said  the  lawyer,  good-naturedly,  "the 
best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  stay  down  here  and  speak 
with  you  from  where  we  are." 

"That  is  just  what  I  was  about  to  venture  to  pro- 
pose," returned  the  doctor  with  a  smile.  But  the  words 
were  hardly  uttered,  before  the  smile  was  struck  out  of 
his  face  and  succeeded  by  an  expression  of  such  abject 
terror  and  despair,  as  froze  the  very  blood  of  the  two 
gentlemen  below.  They  saw  it  but  for  a  glimpse,  for 
the  window  was  instantly  thrust  down;  but  that 
glimpse  had  been  sufficient,  and  they  turned  and  left 
the  court  without  a  word.  In  silence,  too,  they 
traversed  the  by-street;  and  it  was  not  until  they  had 
come  into  a  neighbouring  thoroughfare,  where  even 
upon  a  Sunday  there  were  still  some  stirrings  of  life, 

3^3 


DR.  JEKYLL   AND   MR.  HYDE 

that  Mr.  Utterson  at  last  turned  and  looked  at  his  com- 
panion. They  were  both  pale;  and  there  was  an  an- 
swering horror  in  their  eyes. 

**God  forgive  us,God forgive  us,"  said  Mr.  Utterson. 

But  Mr.  Enfield  only  nodded  his  head  very  seriously, 
and  walked  on  once  more  in  silence. 


?24 


THE  LAST  NIGHT 

Mr.  Utterson  was  sitting  by  his  fireside  one  evening 
after  dinner,  when  he  was  surprised  to  receive  a  visit 
from  Poole. 

"  Bless  me,  Poole,  what  brings  you  here  ?  "  he  cried ; 
and  then  taking  a  second  look  at  him, ' '  What  ails  you  ?  " 
he  added ;  "  is  the  doctor  ill  ?  " 

"Mr.  Utterson,"  said  the  man,  "there  is  something 
wrong." 

"Take  a  seat,  and  here  is  a  glass  of  wine  for  you," 
said  the  lawyer.  "Now,  take  your  time,  and  tell  me 
plainly  what  you  want." 

"You  know  the  doctor's  ways,  sir,"  replied  Poole, 
"  and  how  he  shuts  himself  up.  "Well,  he's  shut  up 
again  in  the  cabinet;  and  I  don't  like  it,  sir  —  I  wish  I 
may  die  if  1  like  it.     Mr.  Utterson,  sir,  I'm  afraid." 

"  Now,  my  good  man,"  said  the  lawyer, "  be  explicit. 
What  are  you  afraid  of  .^" 

"I've  been  afraid  for  about  a  week,"  returned  Poole, 
doggedly  disregarding  the  question,  "and  I  can  bear  it 
no  more." 

The  man's  appearance  amply  bore  out  his  words;  his 
manner  was  altered  for  the  worse ;  and  except  for  the 
moment  when  he  had  first  announced  his  terror,  he  had 

?25 


DR.  JEKYLL   AND   MR.  HYDE 

not  once  looked  the  lawyer  in  the  face.  Even  now,  he 
sat  with  the  glass  of  wine  untasted  on  his  knee,  and  his 
eyes  directed  to  a  corner  of  the  floor.  "  I  can  bear  it 
no  more,"  he  repeated. 

''Come,"  said  the  lawyer,  "I  see  you  have  some 
good  reason,  Poole ;  I  see  there  is  something  seriously 
amiss.     Try  to  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  1  think  there's  been  foul  play,"  said  Poole,  hoarsely. 

"Foul  play!"  cried  the  lawyer,  a  good  deal  fright- 
ened and  rather  inclined  to  be  irritated  in  consequence. 
"  What  foul  play  r    What  does  the  man  mean  ?  " 

"1  daren't  say,  sir,"  was  the  answer;  "but  will  you 
come  along  with  me  and  see  for  yourself.?" 

Mr.  Utterson's  only  answer  was  to  rise  and  get  his  hat 
and  great  coat ;  but  he  observed  with  wonder  the  great- 
ness of  the  relief  that  appeared  upon  the  butler's  face, 
and  perhaps  with  no  less,  that  the  wine  was  still  un- 
tasted when  he  set  it  down  to  follow. 

It  was  a  wild,  cold,  seasonable  night  of  March,  with 
a  pale  moon,  lying  on  her  back  as  though  the  wind  had 
tilted  her,  and  a  flying  wrack  of  the  most  diaphanous 
and  lawny  texture.  The  wind  made  talking  difficult, 
and  flecked  the  blood  into  the  face.  It  seemed  to  have 
swept  the  streets  unusually  bare  of  passengers,  besides ; 
for  Mr.  Utterson  thought  he  had  never  seen  that  part  of 
London  so  deserted.  He  could  have  wished  it  other- 
wise; never  in  his  life  had  he  been  conscious  of  so  sharp 
a  wish  to  see  and  touch  his  fellow-creatures ;  for  strug- 
gle as  he  might,  there  was  born  in  upon  his  mind  a 
crushing  anticipation  of  calamity.  The  square,  when 
they  got  there,  was  all  full  of  wind  and  dust,  and  the 
thin  trees  in  the  garden  were  lashing  themselves  along 

326 


THE   LAST  NIGHT 

the  railing.  Poole,  who  had  kept  all  the  way  a  pace  or 
two  ahead,  now  pulled  up  in  the  middle  of  the  pave- 
ment, and  in  spite  of  the  biting  weather,  took  off  his 
hat  and  mopped  his  brow  with  a  red  pocket-handker- 
chief. But  for  all  the  hurry  of  his  coming,  these  were 
not  the  dews  of  exertion  that  he  wiped  away,  but  the 
moisture  of  some  strangling  anguish ;  for  his  face  was 
white  and  his  voice,  when  he  spoke,  harsh  and  broken. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  said,  "here  we  are,  and  God  grant 
there  be  nothing  wrong." 

"Amen,  Poole,"  said  the  lawyer. 

Thereupon  the  servant  knocked  in  a  very  guarded 
manner;  the  door  was  opened  on  the  chain;  and  a  voice 
asked  from  within,  "Is  that  you,  Poole?" 

" It's  all  right,"  said  Poole.     "  Open  the  door." 

The  hall,  when  they  entered  it,  was  brightly  lighted 
up ;  the  fire  was  built  high ;  and  about  the  hearth  the 
whole  of  the  servants,  men  and  women,  stood  huddled 
together  like  a  flock  of  sheep.  At  the  sight  of  Mr. 
Utterson,  the  housemaid  broke  into  hysterical  whim- 
pering; and  the  cook,  crying  out  "Bless  God!  it's  Mr. 
Utterson,"  ran  forward  as  if  to  take  him  in  her  arms. 

"What,  what ?  Are  you  all  here ? "  said  the  lawyer 
peevishly.  *  *  Very  irregular,  very  unseemly ;  your  mas- 
ter would  be  far  from  pleased." 

"They're  all  afraid,"  said  Poole. 

Blank  silence  followed,  no  one  protesting;  only  the 
maid  lifted  up  her  voice  and  now  wept  loudly. 

"  Hold  your  tongue! "  Poole  said  to  her,  with  a  fero- 
city of  accent  that  testified  to  his  own  jangled  nerves ; 
and  indeed,  when  the  girl  had  so  suddenly  raised  the 
note  of  her  lamentation,  they  had  all  started  and  turned 

327 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

towards  the  inner  door  with  faces  of  dreadful  expecta- 
tion. **  And  now, "  continued  the  butler,  addressing  the 
knife-boy,  "reach  me  a  candle,  and  we'll  get  this  through 
hands  at  once."  And  then  he  begged  Mr.  Utterson  to 
follow  him,  and  led  the  way  to  the  back  garden. 

"Now,  sir,"  said  he,  "  you  come  as  gently  as  you  can. 
I  want  you  to  hear,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  be  heard. 
And  see  here,  sir,  if  by  any  chance  he  was  to  ask  you  in, 
don't  go." 

Mr.  Utterson's  nerves,  at  this  unlooked-for  termina- 
tion, gave  a  jerk  that  nearly  threw  him  from  his  bal- 
ance; but  he  recollected  his  courage  and  followed  the 
butler  into  the  laboratory  building  and  through  the  sur- 
gical theatre,  with  its  lumber  of  crates  and  bottles,  to 
the  foot  of  the  stair.  Here  Poole  motioned  him  to  stand 
on  one  side  and  listen ;  while  he  himself,  setting  down 
the  candle  and  making  a  great  and  obvious  call  on  his 
resolution,  mounted  the  steps  and  knocked  with  a 
somewhat  uncertain  hand  on  the  red  baize  of  the  cabi- 
net door. 

"Mr.  Utterson,  sir,  asking  to  see  you,"  he  called; 
and  even  as  he  did  so,  once  more  violently  signed  to 
the  lawyer  to  give  ear. 

A  voice  answered  from  within:  "Tell  him  I  cannot 
see  anyone,"  it  said  complainingly. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Poole,  with  a  note  of  some- 
thing like  triumph  in  his  voice ;  and  taking  up  his  can- 
dle, he  led  Mr.  Utterson  back  across  the  yard  and  into 
the  great  kitchen,  where  the  fire  was  out  and  the  bee- 
tles were  leaping  on  the  floor. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  looking  Mr.  Utterson  in  the  eyes, 
"  was  that  my  master's  voice  ? ' 


THE  LAST  NIGHT 

*Mt  seems  much  changed,"  replied  the  lawyer,  very 
pale,  but  giving  look  for  look. 

"Changed  ?  Well,  yes,  I  think  so,"  said  the  butler. 
"  Have  1  been  twenty  years  in  this  man's  house,  to  be 
deceived  about  his  voice  ?  No,  sir;  master's  made  away 
with ;  he  was  made  away  with,  eight  days  ago,  when  we 
heard  him  cry  out  upon  the  name  of  God;  and  who's  in 
there  instead  of  him,  and  why  it  stays  there,  is  a  thing 
that  cries  to  Heaven,  Mr.  Utterson !  " 

"This  is  a  very  strange  tale,  Poole;  this  is  rather  a 
wild  tale,  my  man,"  said  Mr.  Utterson,  biting  his  fin- 
ger. "  Suppose  it  were  as  you  suppose,  supposing  Dr. 
Jekyll  to  have  been  —  well,  murdered,  what  could  in- 
duce the  murderer  to  stay  ?  That  won't  hold  water;  it 
doesn't  commend  itself  to  reason." 

"Well,  Mr.  Utterson,  you  are  a  hard  man  to  satisfy, 
but  I'll  do  it  yet,"  said  Poole.  "All  this  last  week  (you 
must  know)  him,  or  it,  or  whatever  it  is  that  lives  in 
that  cabinet,  has  been  crying  night  and  day  for  some 
sort  of  medicine  and  cannot  get  it  to  his  mind.  It  was 
sometimes  his  way  —  the  master's,  that  is  —  to  write  his 
orders  on  a  sheet  of  paper  and  throw  it  on  the  stair. 
We've  had  nothing  else  this  week  back;  nothing  but 
papers,  and  a  closed  door,  and  the  very  meals  left  there 
to  be  smuggled  in  when  nobody  was  looking.  Well,  sir, 
every  day,  ay,  and  twice  and  thrice  in  the  same  day, 
there  have  been  orders  and  complaints,  and  I  have  been 
sent  flying  to  all  the  wholesale  chemists  in  town. 
Every  time  1  brought  the  stuff  back,  there  would  be 
another  paper  telling  me  to  return  it,  because  it  was  not 
pure,  and  another  order  to  a  different  firm.  This  drug 
is  wanted  bitter  bad,  sir,  whatever  for." 

329 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

"  Have  you  any  of  these  papers  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Utterson. 

Poole  felt  in  his  pocket  and  handed  out  a  crumpled 
note,  which  the  lawyer,  bending  nearer  to  the  candle, 
carefully  examined.  Its  contents  ran  thus:  *'Dr.  Jek- 
yll  presents  his  compliments  to  Messrs.  Maw.  He 
assures  them  that  their  last  sample  is  impure  and  quite 
useless  for  his  present  purpose.  In  the  year  i8 — ,  Dr. 
J.  purchased  a  somewhat  large  quantity  from  Messrs.  M. 
He  now  begs  them  to  search  with  the  most  sedulous 
care,  and  should  any  of  the  same  quality  be  left,  to  for- 
ward it  to  him  at  once.  Expense  is  no  consideration. 
The  importance  of  this  to  Dr.  J.  can  hardly  be  exagger- 
ated." So  far  the  letter  had  run  composedly  enough, 
but  here  with  a  sudden  splutter  of  the  pen,  the  writer's 
emotion  had  broken  loose.  *'  For  God's  sake,"  he  had 
added,  **fmd  me  some  of  the  old." 

* '  This  is  a  strange  note, "  said  Mr.  Utterson ;  and  then 
sharply,  "How  do  you  come  to  have  it  open  ?" 

''The  man  at  Maw's  was  main  angry,  sir,  and  he 
threw  it  back  to  me  like  so  much  dirt,"  returned 
Poole. 

"This  is  unquestionably  the  doctor's  hand,  do  you 
know  ?  "  resumed  the  lawyer. 

"  I  thought  it  looked  like  it,"  said  the  servant  rather 
sulkily;  and  then,  with  another  voice,  "But  what  mat- 
ters hand  of  write  ?  "  he  said.     "  I've  seen  him !  " 

"  Seen  him  ?  "  repeated  Mr.  Utterson.     "  Well  ?  " 

"That's  it! "  said  Poole.  "  It  was  this  way.  I  came 
suddenly  into  the  theatre  from  the  garden.  It  seems  he 
had  slipped  out  to  look  for  this  drug  or  whatever  it  is ; 
for  the  cabinet  door  was  open,  and  there  he  was  at  the 
far  end  of  the  room  digging  among  the  crates.     He 

350 


THE   LAST  NIGHT 

looked  up  when  I  came  in,  gave  a  kind  of  cry,  and 
whipped  upstairs  into  the  cabinet.  It  was  but  for  one 
minute  that  I  saw  him,  but  the  hair  stood  upon  my  head 
like  quills.  Sir,  if  that  was  my  master,  why  had  he  a 
mask  upon  his  face  ?  If  it  was  my  master,  why  did  he 
cry  out  like  a  rat,  and  run  from  me  ?  I  have  served  him 
long  enough.  And  then  ..."  The  man  paused  and 
passed  his  hand  over  his  face. 

"These  are  all  very  strange  circumstances,"  said  Mr. 
Utterson,  **but  1  think  I  begin  to  see  daylight.  Your 
master,  Poole,  is  plainly  seized  with  one  of  those  mala- 
dies that  both  torture  and  deform  the  sufferer;  hence, 
for  aught  1  know,  the  alteration  of  his  voice;  hence 
the  mask  and  the  avoidance  of  his  friends;  hence  his 
eagerness  to  find  this  drug,  by  means  of  which  the  poor 
soul  retains  some  hope  of  ultimate  recovery  —  God  grant 
that  he  be  not  deceived!  There  is  my  explanation;  it 
is  sad  enough,  Poole,  ay,  and  appalling  to  consider;  but 
it  is  plain  and  natural,  hangs  well  together,  and  delivers 
us  from  all  exorbitant  alarms." 

"Sir,"  said  the  butler,  turning  to  a  sort  of  mottled 
pallor,  *  *  that  thing  was  not  my  master,  and  there's  the 
truth.  My  master "—  here  he  looked  round  him  and 
began  to  whisper — "is  a  tall,  fine  build  of  a  man,  and 
this  was  more  of  a  dwarf."  Utterson  attempted  to  pro- 
test "O,  sir,"  cried  Poole,  "do  you  think  1  do  not 
know  my  master  after  twenty  years  ?  Do  you  think  I 
do  not  know  where  his  head  comes  to  in  the  cabinet 
door,  where  I  saw  him  every  morning  of  my  life  ?  No, 
sir,  that  thing  in  the  mask  was  never  Dr.  Jekyll  —  God 
knows  what  it  was,  but  it  was  never  Dr.  Jekyll;  and  it 
is  the  belief  of  my  heart  that  there  was  murder  done." 

33 » 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

"  Poole,"  replied  the  lawyer,  'Mf  you  say  that,  it  will 
become  my  duty  to  make  certain.  Much  as  I  desire  to 
spare  your  master's  feelings,  much  as  I  am  puzzled  by 
this  note  which  seems  to  prove  him  to  be  still  alive,  I 
shall  consider  it  my  duty  to  break  in  that  door." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Utterson,  that's  talking!  "  cried  the  butler. 

**And  now  comes  the  second  question,"  resumed 
Utterson :  "  Who  is  going  to  do  it  ?  " 

"Why,  you  and  me,"  was  the  undaunted  reply. 

"That's  very  well  said,"  returned  the  lawyer;  "and 
whatever  comes  of  it,  I  shall  make  it  my  business  to  see 
you  are  no  loser." 

"There  is  an  axe  in  the  theatre,"  continued  Poole; 
"and  you  might  take  the  kitchen  poker  for  yourself." 

The  lawyer  took  that  rude  but  weighty  instrument 
into  his  hand,  and  balanced  it.  * '  Do  you  know,  Poole, " 
he  said,  looking  up,  "that  you  and  I  are  about  to  place 
ourselves  in  a  position  of  some  peril.?" 

"You  may  say  so,  sir,  indeed,"  returned  the  butler. 

"  It  is  well,  then,  that  we  should  be  frank,"  said  the 
other.  "We  both  think  more  than  we  have  said;  let 
us  make  a  clean  breast.  This  masked  figure  that  you 
saw,  did  you  recognise  it  ?  " 

"Well,  sir,  it  went  so  quick,  and  the  creature  was  so 
doubled  up,  that  I  could  hardly  swear  to  that,"  was  the 
answer.  "  But  if  you  mean,  was  it  Mr.  Hyde  ? — why, 
yes,  I  think  it  was !  You  see,  it  was  much  of  the  same  big- 
ness; and  it  had  the  same  quick,  light  way  with  it;  and 
then  who  else  could  have  got  in  by  the  laboratory  door  ? 
You  have  not  forgot,  sir,  that  at  the  time  of  the  murder  he 
had  still  the  key  with  him  ?  But  that's  not  all.  I  don't 
know,  Mr.  Utterson,  if  ever  you  met  this  Mr.  Hyde  ?  " 

532 


THE   LAST  NIGHT 

*' Yes,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  I  once  spoke  with  him." 

*'Then  you  must  know  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us  that 
there  was  something  queer  about  that  gentleman  — 
something  that  gave  a  man  a  turn  —  I  don't  know  rightly 
how  to  say  it,  sir,  beyond  this :  that  you  felt  it  in  your 
marrow  kind  of  cold  and  thin." 

*M  own  I  felt  something  of  what  you  describe,"  said 
Mr.  Utterson. 

** Quite  so,  sir,"  returned  Poole.  **  Well,  when  that 
masked  thing  like  a  monkey  jumped  from  among  the 
chemicals  and  whipped  into  the  cabinet,  it  went  down 
my  spine  like  ice.  O,  1  know  it's  not  evidence,  Mr. 
Utterson;  I'm  book-learned  enough  for  that;  but  a  man 
has  his  feelings,  and  I  give  you  my  bible-word  it  was 
Mr.  Hyde!" 

**  Ay,  ay,"  said  the  lawyer.  '*  My  fears  incline  to  the 
same  point.  Evil,  I  fear,  founded  —  evil  was  sure  to 
come  —  of  that  connection.  Ay,  truly,  I  believe  you;  I 
believe  poor  Harry  is  killed ;  and  I  believe  his  murderer 
(for  what  purpose,  God  alone  can  tell)  is  still  lurking  in 
his  victim's  room.  Well,  let  our  name  be  vengeance. 
Call  Bradshaw." 

The  footman  came  at  the  summons,  very  white  and 
nervous. 

"Pull  yourself  together,  Bradshaw,"  said  the  lawyer. 
"This  suspense,  1  know,  is  telling  upon  all  of  you;  but 
it  is  now  our  intention  to  make  an  end  of  it.  Poole, 
here,  and  I  are  going  to  force  our  way  into  the  cabinet. 
If  all  is  well,  my  shoulders  are  broad  enough  to  bear  the 
blame.  Meanwhile,  lest  anything  should  really  be  amiss, 
or  any  malefactor  seek  to  escape  by  the  back,  you  and 
the  boy  must  go  round  the  corner  with  a  pair  of  good 

533 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

Sticks  and  take  your  post  at  the  laboratory  door.  We 
give  you  ten  minutes,  to  get  to  your  stations." 

As  Bradshaw  left,  the  lawyer  looked  at  his  watch. 
"And  now,  Poole,  let  us  get  to  ours,"  he  said;  and 
taking  the  poker  under  his  arm,  led  the  way  into  the 
yard.  The  scud  had  banked  over  the  moon,  and  it  was 
now  quite  dark.  The  wind,  which  only  broke  in  puffs 
and  draughts  into  that  deep  well  of  building,  tossed  the 
light  of  the  candle  to  and  fro  about  their  steps,  until 
they  came  into  the  shelter  of  the  theatre,  where  they  sat 
down  silently  to  wait.  London  hummed  solemnly  all 
around ;  but  nearer  at  hand,  the  stillness  was  only  broken 
by  the  sounds  of  a  footfall  moving  to  and  fro  along  the 
cabinet  floor. 

**  So  it  will  walk  all  day,  sir, "  whispered  Poole;  *'ay, 
and  the  better  part  of  the  night.  Only  when  a  new 
sample  comes  from  the  chemist,  there's  a  bit  of  a  break. 
Ah,  it's  an  ill-conscience  that's  such  an  enemy  to  rest! 
Ah,  sir,  there's  blood  foully  shed  in  every  step  of  it! 
But  hark  again,  a  little  closer — put  your  heart  in  your 
ears,  Mr.  Utterson,  and  tell  me,  is  that  the  doctor's  foot  .^" 

The  steps  fell  lightly  and  oddly,  with  a  certain  swing, 
for  all  they  went  so  slowly ;  it  was  different  indeed  from 
the  heavy  creaking  tread  of  Henry  Jekyll.  Utterson 
sighed.     *'  Is  there  never  anything  else  ?  "  he  asked. 

Poole  nodded.  ''Once,"  he  said.  ''Once  I  heard  it 
weeping!" 

"Weeping?  how  that?"  said  the  lawyer,  conscious 
of  a  sudden  chill  of  horror. 

"Weeping  like  a  woman  or  a  lost  soul,"  said  the  but- 
ler. "I  came  away  with  that  upon  my  heart,  that  I 
could  have  wept  too." 

334 


THE  LAST  NIGHT 

But  now  the  ten  minutes  drew  to  an  end.  Poole  dis- 
interred the  axe  from  under  a  stack  of  packing  straw ; 
the  candle  was  set  upon  the  nearest  table  to  light  them 
to  the  attack ;  and  they  drew  near  with  bated  breath  to 
where  that  patient  foot  was  still  going  up  and  down,  up 
and  down,  in  the  quiet  of  the  night. 

"Jekyll,"  cried  Utterson,  with  a  loud  voice,  "I  de- 
mand to  see  you."  He  paused  a  moment,  but  there 
came  no  reply.  "I  give  you  fair  warning,  our  suspi- 
cions are  aroused,  and  I  must  and  shall  see  you,"  he 
resumed ;  "  if  not  by  fair  means,  then  by  foul  —  if  not  of 
your  consent,  then  by  brute  force!  " 

"Utterson,"  said  the  voice,  **for  God's  sake,  have 
mercy!" 

**Ah,  that's  not  Jekyll's  voice  —  it's  Hyde's!"  cried 
Utterson.     "Down  with  the  door,  Poole!" 

Poole  swung  the  axe  over  his  shoulder;  the  blow 
shook  the  building,  and  the  red  baize  door  leaped 
against  the  lock  and  hinges.  A  dismal  screech,  as  of 
mere  animal  terror,  rang  from  the  cabinet.  Up  went 
the  axe  again,  and  again  the  panels  crashed  and  the 
frame  bounded;  four  times  the  blow  fell;  but  the  wood 
was  tough  and  the  fittings  were  of  excellent  workman- 
ship; and  it  was  not  until  the  fifth,  that  the  lock  burst 
in  sunder  and  the  wreck  of  the  door  fell  inwards  on  the 
carpet. 

The  besiegers,  appalled  by  their  own  riot  and  the 
stillness  that  had  succeeded,  stood  back  a  little  and 
peered  in.  There  lay  the  cabinet  before  their  eyes  in 
the  quiet  lamplight,  a  good  fire  glowing  and  chattering 
on  the  hearth,  the  kettle  singing  its  thin  strain,  a  drawer 
or  two  open,  papers  neatly  set  forth  on  the  business 

3?5 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

table,  and  nearer  the  fire,  the  things  laid  out  for  tea*, 
the  quietest  room,  you  would  have  said,  and,  but  for 
the  glazed  presses  full  of  chemicals,  the  most  common- 
place that  night  in  London. 

Right  in  the  midst  there  lay  the  body  of  a  man  sorely 
contorted  and  still  twitching.  They  drew  near  on  tip- 
toe, turned  it  on  its  back  and  beheld  the  face  of  Edward 
Hyde.  He  was  dressed  in  clothes  far  too  large  for  him, 
clothes  of  the  doctor's  bigness ;  the  cords  of  his  face 
still  moved  with  a  semblance  of  life,  but  life  was  quite 
gone:  and  by  the  crushed  phial  in  the  hand  and  the 
strong  smell  of  kernels  that  hung  upon  the  air,  Utter- 
son  knew  that  he  was  looking  on  the  body  of  a  self- 
destroyer. 

'*  We  have  come  too  late,"  he  said  sternly,  *'  whether 
to  save  or  punish.  Hyde  is  gone  to  his  account;  and 
it  only  remains  for  us  to  find  the  body  of  your  master." 

The  far  greater  proportion  of  the  building  was  occu- 
pied by  the  theatre,  which  filled  almost  the  whole 
ground  story  and  was  lighted  from  above,  and  by  the 
cabinet,  which  formed  an  upper  story  at  one  end  and 
looked  upon  the  court.  A  corridor  joined  the  theatre 
to  the  door  on  the  by-street;  and  with  this  the  cabinet 
communicated  separately  by  a  second  flight  of  stairs. 
There  were  besides  a  few  dark  closets  and  a  spacious 
cellar.  All  these  they  now  thoroughly  examined.  Each 
closet  needed  but  a  glance,  for  all  were  empty,  and  all, 
by  the  dust  that  fell  from  their  doors,  had  stood  long 
unopened.  The  cellar,  indeed,  was  filled  with  crazy 
lumber,  mostly  dating  from  the  times  of  the  surgeon 
who  was  Jekyll's  predecessor;  but  even  as  they  opened 
the  door  they  were  advertised  of  the  uselessness  of  fur- 

336 


THE  LAST  NIGHT 

ther  search,  by  the  fall  of  a  perfect  mat  of  cobweb  which 
had  for  years  sealed  up  the  entrance.  Nowhere  was 
there  any  trace  of  Henry  Jekyll,  dead  or  alive. 

Poole  stamped  on  the  flags  of  the  corridor.  **He 
must  be  buried  here,"  he  said,  hearkening  to  the  sound. 

"  Or  he  may  have  fled,"  said  Utterson,  and  he  turned 
to  examine  the  door  in  the  by-street.  It  was  locked ; 
and  lying  near  by  on  the  flags,  they  found  the  key,  al- 
ready stained  with  rust. 

'*This  does  not  look  like  use,"  observed  the  lawyer. 

"Use!"  echoed  Poole.  "Do  you  not  see,  sir,  it  is 
broken  ?  much  as  if  a  man  had  stamped  on  it." 

"Ay,"  continued  Utterson,  "and  the  fractures,  too, 
are  rusty."  The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  with  a 
scare.  "This  is  beyond  me,  Poole,"  said  the  lawyer. 
"  Let  us  go  back  to  the  cabinet." 

They  mounted  the  stair  in  silence,  and  still  with  an 
occasional  awestruck  glance  at  the  dead  body,  pro- 
ceeded more  thoroughly  to  examine  the  contents  of  the 
cabinet.  At  one  table,  there  were  traces  of  chemical 
work,  various  measured  heaps  of  some  white  salt  being 
laid  on  glass  saucers,  as  though  for  an  experiment  in 
which  the  unhappy  man  had  been  prevented. 

"That  is  the  same  drug  that  1  was  always  bringing 
him,"  said  Poole;  and  even  as  he  spoke,  the  kettle  with 
a  startling  noise  boiled  over. 

This  brought  them  to  the  fireside,  where  the  easy- 
chair  was  drawn  cosily  up,  and  the  tea  things  stood 
ready  to  the  sitter's  elbow,  the  very  sugar  in  the  cup. 
There  were  several  books  on  a  shelf;  one  lay  beside  the 
tea  things  open,  and  Utterson  was  amazed  to  find  it 
a  copy  of  a  pious  work,  for  which  Jekyll  had  several 

337 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

times  expressed  a  great  esteem,  annotated,  in  his  own 
hand,  with  startling  blasphemies. 

Next,  in  the  course  of  their  review  of  the  chamber, 
the  searchers  came  to  the  cheval  glass,  into  whose 
depths  they  looked  with  an  involuntary  horror.  But  it 
was  so  turned  as  to  show  them  nothing  but  the  rosy 
glow  playing  on  the  roof,  the  fire  sparkling  in  a  hun- 
dred repetitions  along  the  glazed  front  of  the  presses, 
and  their  own  pale  and  fearful  countenances  stooping  to 
look  in. 

**This  glass  have  seen  some  strange  things,  sir," 
whispered  Poole. 

**And  surely  none  stranger  than  itself,"  echoed  the 
lawyer  in  the  same  tones.  ''  For  what  did  Jekyll " —  he 
caught  himself  up  at  the  word  with  a  start,  and  then 
conquering  the  weakness — ''what  could  Jekyll  want 
with  it  .J* "  he  said. 

**  You  may  say  that!  "  said  Poole. 

Next  they  turned  to  the  business  table.  On  the  desk, 
among  the  neat  array  of  papers,  a  large  envelope  was 
uppermost,  and  bore,  in  the  doctor's  hand,  the  name  of 
Mr.  Utterson.  The  lawyer  unsealed  it,  and  several  en- 
closures fell  to  the  floor.  The  first  was  a  will,  drawn 
in  the  same  eccentric  terms  as  the  one  which  he  had  re- 
turned six  months  before,  to  serve  as  a  testament  in 
case  of  death  and  as  a  deed  of  gift  in  case  of  disappear- 
ance; but  in  place  of  the  name  of  Edward  Hyde,  the 
lawyer,  with  indescribable  amazement,  read  the  name 
of  Gabriel  John  Utterson.  He  looked  at  Poole,  and  then 
back  at  the  paper,  and  last  of  all  at  the  dead  malefactor 
stretched  upon  the  carpet. 

''  My  head  goes  round,"  he  said.  ''  He  has  been  all 
338 


THE  LAST  NIGHT 

these  days  in  possession ;  he  had  no  cause  to  like  me ; 
he  must  have  raged  to  see  himself  displaced;  and  he 
has  not  destroyed  this  document." 

He  caught  up  the  next  paper;  it  was  a  brief  note  in 
the  doctor's  hand  and  dated  at  the  top.  **0  Poole!" 
the  lawyer  cried,  **  he  was  alive  and  here  this  day.  He 
cannot  have  been  disposed  of  in  so  short  a  space;  he 
must  be  still  alive,  he  must  have  fled!  And  then,  why 
fled  ?  and  how  ?  and  in  that  case,  can  we  venture  to 
declare  this  suicide  ?  O,  we  must  be  careful.  1  foresee 
that  we  may  yet  involve  your  master  in  some  dire 
catastrophe." 

"  Why  don't  you  read  it,  sir?"  asked  Poole. 

'  *  Because  1  fear, "  replied  the  lawyer  solemnly.  '*  God 
grant  I  have  no  cause  for  it ! "  And  with  that  he  brought 
the  paper  to  his  eyes  and  read  as  follows : 

"My  Dear  Utterson, —  When  this  shall  fall  into  your  hands,  I 
shall  have  disappeared,  under  what  circumstances  1  have  not  the  pene- 
tration to  foresee,  but  my  instinct  and  all  the  circumstances  of  my 
nameless  situation  tell  me  that  the  end  is  sure  and  must  be  early.  Go 
then,  and  first  read  the  narrative  which  Lanyon  warned  me  he  was  to 
place  in  your  hands;  and  if  you  care  to  hear  more,  turn  to  the  con- 
fession of 

"  Your  unworthy  and  unhappy  friend, 

*'  Henry  Jekyll." 

''There  was  a  third  enclosure ?"  asked  Utterson. 

*'Here,  sir,"  said  Poole,  and  gave  into  his  hands  a 
considerable  packet  sealed  in  several  places. 

The  lawyer  put  it  in  his  pocket.  **  I  would  say  noth- 
kig  of  this  paper.  If  your  master  has  fled  or  is  dead, 
we  may  at  least  save  his  credit.     It  is  now  ten ;  I  must 

339 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

go  home  and  read  these  documents  in  quiet ;  but  I  shall 
be  back  before  midnight,  when  we  shall  send  for  the 
police." 

They  went  out,  locking  the  door  of  the  theatre  be- 
hind them;  and  Utterson,  once  more  leaving  the  ser- 
vants gathered  about  the  fire  in  the  hall,  trudged  back 
to  his  office  to  read  the  two  narratives  in  which  this 
mystery  was  now  to  be  explained. 


^¥> 


DR.    LANYON'S  narrative 

On  the  ninth  of  January,  now  four  days  ago,  I  re- 
ceived by  the  evening  delivery  a  registered  envelope, 
addressed  in  the  hand  of  my  colleague  and  old  school- 
companion,  Henry  Jekyll.  1  was  a  good  deal  surprised 
by  this ;  for  we  were  by  no  means  in  the  habit  of  corre- 
spondence; I  had  seen  the  man,  dined  with  him,  in- 
deed, the  night  before;  and  I  could  imagine  nothing  in 
our  intercourse  that  should  justify  formality  of  registra- 
tion. The  contents  increased  my  wonder;  for  this  is 
how  the  letter  ran : 

"  loth  December,  i*— 
"  Dear  Lanyon,— You  are  one  of  my  oldest  friends;  and  although 
we  may  have  differed  at  times  on  scientific  questions,  I  cannot  remem- 
ber, at  least  on  my  side,  any  break  in  our  affection.  There  was  never 
a  day  when,  if  you  had  said  to  me,  'Jekyll,  my  life,  my  honour,  my 
reason,  depend  upon  you,'  1  would  not  have  sacrificed  my  left  hand  to 
help  you.  Lanyon,  my  life,  my  honour,  my  reason,  are  all  at  your 
mercy;  if  you  fail  me  to-night  I  am  lost.  You  might  suppose,  after 
this  preface,  that  I  am  going  to  ask  you  for  something  dishonourable 
to  grant.    Judge  for  yourself. 

' '  I  want  you  to  postpone  all  other  engagements  for  to-night  —  ay, 
even  if  you  were  summoned  to  the  bedside  of  an  emperor;  to  take  a 
cab,  unless  your  carriage  should  be  actually  at  the  door;  and  with  this 
letter  in  your  hand  for  consultation,  to  drive  straight  to  my  house. 
Poole,  my  butler,  has  his  orders;  you  will  find  him  waiting  your  arri- 

34' 


DR.  JEKYLL   AND   MR.  HYDE 

val  with  a  locksmith.  The  door  of  my  cabinet  is  then  to  be  forced: 
and  you  are  to  go  in  alone;  to  open  the  glazed  press  (letter  E)  on  the 
left  hand,  breaking  the  lock  if  it  be  shut;  and  to  draw  out,  with  all  its 
contents  as  they  stand,  the  fourth  drawer  from  the  top  or  (which  is  the 
same  thing)  the  third  from  the  bottom.  In  my  extreme  distress  of  mind, 
1  have  a  morbid  fear  of  misdirecting  you;  but  even  if  I  am  in  error, 
you  may  know  the  right  drawer  by  its  contents:  some  powders,  a 
phial  and  a  paper  book.  This  drawer  I  beg  of  you  to  carry  back  with 
you  to  Cavendish  Square  exactly  as  it  stands. 

*'That  is  the  first  part  of  the  service:  now  for  the  second.  You 
should  be  back,  if  you  set  out  at  once  on  the  receipt  of  this,  long  be- 
fore midnight;  but  I  will  leave  you  that  amount  of  margin,  not  only  in 
the  fear  of  one  of  those  obstacles  that  can  neither  be  prevented  nor 
foreseen,  but  because  an  hour  when  your  servants  are  in  bed  is  to  be 
preferred  for  what  will  then  remain  to  do.  At  midnight,  then,  I  have 
to  ask  you  to  be  alone  in  your  consulting  room,  to  admit  with  your 
own  hand  into  the  house  a  man  who  will  present  himself  in  my  name, 
and  to  place  in  his  hands  the  drawer  that  you  will  have  brought  with 
you  from  my  cabinet.  Then  you  will  have  played  your  part  and  earned 
my  gratitude  completely.  Five  minutes  afterwards,  if  you  insist  upon 
an  explanation,  you  will  have  understood  that  these  arrangements  are 
of  capital  importance;  and  that  by  the  neglect  of  one  of  them,  fan- 
tiastic  as  they  must  appear,  you  might  have  charged  your  conscience 
with  my  death  or  the  shipwreck  of  my  reason. 

"  Confident  as  1  am  that  you  will  not  trifle  with  this  appeal,  my  heart 
sinks  and  my  hand  trembles  at  the  bare  thought  of  such  a  possibility. 
Think  of  me  at  this  hour,  in  a  strange  place,  labouring  under  a  black- 
ness of  distress  that  no  fancy  can  exaggerate,  and  yet  well  aware  that, 
if  you  will  but  punctually  serve  me,  my  troubles  will  roll  away  like  a 
story  that  is  told.     Serve  me,  my  dear  Lanyon,  and  save 

"  Your  friend, 

"H.  J. 

"  P.  S.—  I  had  already  sealed  this  up  when  a  fresh  terror  struck  upon 
my  soul.  It*  is  possible  that  the  post-office  may  fail  me,  and  this  let- 
ter not  come  into  your  hands  until  to-morrow  morning.  In  that  case, 
dear  Lanyon,  do  my  errand  when  it  shall  be  most  convenient  for  you 
in  the  course  of  the  (Jay;  and  once  more  expect  my  messenger  at  mid- 
342 


DR.   LANYON'S   NARRATIVE 

night.  It  may  then  already  be  too  late;  and  if  that  night  passes 
without  event,  you  will  know  that  you  have  seen  the  last  of  Henry 
Jekyll." 

Upon  the  reading  of  this  letter,  I  made  sure  my  col- 
league was  insane ;  but  till  that  was  proved  beyond  the 
possibility  of  doubt,  I  felt  bound  to  do  as  he  requested. 
The  less  I  understood  of  this  farrago,  the  less  I  was  in 
a  position  to  judge  of  its  importance;  and  an  appeal  so 
worded  could  not  be  set  aside  without  a  grave  respon- 
sibility. 1  rose  accordingly  from  table,  got  into  a  han- 
som, and  drove  straight  to  Jekyll's  house.  The  butler 
was  awaiting  my  arrival ;  he  had  received  by  the  same 
post  as  mine  a  registered  letter  of  instruction,  and  had 
sent  at  once  for  a  locksmith  and  a  carpenter.  The 
tradesmen  came  while  we  were  yet  speaking;  and  we 
moved  in  a  body  to  old  Dr.  Denman's  surgical  theatre, 
from  which  (as  you  are  doubtless  aware)  Jekyll's  pri- 
vate cabinet  is  most  conveniently  entered.  The  door 
was  very  strong,  the  lock  excellent;  the  carpenter 
avowed  he  would  have  great  trouble  and  have  to  do 
much  damage,  if  force  were  to  be  used ;  and  the  lock- 
smith was  near  despair.  But  this  last  was  a  handy  fel- 
low, and  after  two  hours'  work,  the  door  stood  open. 
The  press  marked  E  was  unlocked ;  and  I  took  out  the 
drawer,  had  it  filled  up  with  straw  and  tied  in  a  sheet, 
and  returned  with  it  to  Cavendish  Square. 

Here  I  proceeded  to  examine  its  contents.  The  pow- 
ders were  neatly  enough  made  up,  but  not  with  the 
nicety  of  the  dispensing  chemist;  so  that  it  was  plain 
they  were  of  Jekyll's  private  manufacture:  and  when 
I  opened  one  of  the  wrappers  1  found  what  seemed  to 
me  a  simple  crystalline  salt  of  a  white  colour.     The 


DR.  JEKYLL   AND   MR.  HYDE 

phial,  to  which  I  next  turned  my  attention,  might  have 
been  about  half  full  of  a  blood-red  liquor,  which  was 
highly  pungent  to  the  sense  of  smell  and  seemed  to 
me  to  contain  phosphorus  and  some  volatile  ether.  At 
the  other  ingredients  I  could  make  no  guess.  The  book 
was  an  ordinary  version  book  and  contained  little  but 
a  series  of  dates.  These  covered  a  period  of  many  years, 
but  I  observed  that  the  entries  ceased  nearly  a  year  ago 
and  quite  abruptly.  Here  and  there  a  brief  remark  was 
appended  to  a  date,  usually  no  more  than  a  single  word : 
** double"  occurring  perhaps  six  times  in  a  total  of 
several  hundred  entries ;  and  once  very  early  in  the  list 
and  followed  by  several  marks  of  exclamation,  **  total 
failure!!!"  All  this,  though  it  whetted  my  curiosity, 
told  me  little  that  was  definite.  Here  were  a  phial  of 
some  tincture,  a  paper  of  some  salt,  and  the  record  of  a 
series  of  experiments  that  had  led  (like  too  many  of 
Jekyll's  investigations)  to  no  end  of  practical  usefulness. 
How  could  the  presence  of  these  articles  in  my  house 
affect  either  the  honour,  the  sanity,  or  the  life  of  my 
flighty  colleague  ?  If  his  messenger  could  go  to  one 
place,  why  could  he  not  go  to  another.^  And  even 
granting  some  impediment,  why  was  this  gentleman 
to  be  received  by  me  in  secret  ?  The  more  I  reflected 
the  more  convinced  I  grew  that  1  was  dealing  with  a 
case  of  cerebral  disease;  and  though  1  dismissed  my 
servants  to  bed,  I  loaded  an  old  revolver,  that  I  might 
be  found  in  some  posture  of  self-defence. 

Twelve  o'clock  had  scarce  rung  out  over  London,  ere 
the  knocker  sounded  very  gently  on  the  door.  I  went 
myself  at  the  summons,  and  found  a  small  man  crouch- 
ing against  the  pillars  of  the  portico. 

344 


DR.    LANYON'S   NARRATIVE 

"  Are  you  come  from  Dr.  Jekyll  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  told  me  "yes"  by  a  constrained  gesture;  and 
when  I  had  bidden  him  enter,  he  did  not  obey  me  with- 
out a  searching  backward  glance  into  the  darkness  of 
the  square.  There  was  a  policeman  not  far  off,  advan- 
cing with  his  bull's  eye  open ;  and  at  the  sight,  I  thought 
my  visitor  started  and  made  greater  haste. 

These  particulars  struck  me,  I  confess,  disagreeably; 
and  as  I  followed  him  into  the  bright  light  of  the  con- 
sulting room,  I  kept  my  hand  ready  on  my  weapon. 
Here,  at  last,  I  had  a  chance  of  clearly  seeing  him.  1  had 
never  set  eyes  on  him  before,  so  much  was  certain.  He 
was  small,  as  I  have  said ;  1  was  struck  besides  with  the 
shocking  expression  of  his  face,  with  his  remarkable 
combination  of  great  muscular  activity  and  great  appar- 
ent debility  of  constitution,  and  —  last  but  not  least  — 
with  the  odd,  subjective  disturbance  caused  by  his 
neighbourhood.  This  bore  some  resemblance  to  incip- 
ient rigour,  and  was  accompanied  by  a  marked  sinking 
of  the  pulse.  At  the  time,  1  set  it  down  to  some  idio- 
syncratic, personal  distaste,  and  merely  wondered  at 
the  acuteness  of  the  symptoms;  but  I  have  since  had 
reason  to  believe  the  cause  to  lie  much  deeper  in  the 
nature  of  man,  and  to  turn  on  some  nobler  hinge  than 
the  principle  of  hatred. 

This  person  (who  had  thus,  from  the  first  moment  of 
his  entrance,  struck  in  me  what  1  can  only  describe  as  a 
disgustful  curiosity)  was  dressed  in  a  fashion  that  would 
have  made  an  ordinary  person  laughable;  his  clothes, 
that  is  to  say,  although  they  were  of  rich  and  sober 
fabric,  were  enormously  too  large  for  him  in  every 
measurement  —  the  trousers  hanging  on  his  legs  and 

345 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

rolled  up  to  keep  them  from  the  ground,  the  waist  of 
the  coat  below  his  haunches,  and  the  collar  sprawling 
wide  upon  his  shoulders.  Strange  to  relate,  this  ludi- 
crous accoutrement  was  far  from  moving  me  to  laughter. 
Rather,  as  there  was  something  abnormal  and  misbe- 
gotten in  the  very  essence  of  the  creature  that  now 
faced  me  —  something  seizing,  surprising  and  revolting 
—  this  fresh  disparity  seemed  but  to  fit  in  with  and  to 
reinforce  it;  so  that  to  my  interest  in  the  man's  nature 
and  character,  there  was  added  a  curiosity  as  to  his 
origin,  his  life,  his  fortune  and  status  in  the  world. 

These  observations,  though  they  have  taken  so  great 
a  space  to  be  set  down  in,  were  yet  the  work  of  a  few 
seconds.  My  visitor  was,  indeed,  on  fire  with  sombre 
excitement. 

*'  Have  you  got  it  ?  "  he  cried.  **  Have  you  got  it  ?  " 
And  so  lively  was  his  impatience  that  he  even  laid  his 
hand  upon  my  arm  and  sought  to  shake  me. 

I  put  him  back,  conscious  at  his  touch  of  a  certain  icy 
pang  along  my  blood.  "Come,  sir,"  said  I.  "You 
forget  that  I  have  not  yet  the  pleasure  of  your  acquain- 
tance. Be  seated,  if  you  please."  And  I  showed  him 
an  example,  and  sat  down  myself  in  my  customary  seat 
and  with  as  fair  an  imitation  of  my  ordinary  manner  to 
a  patient,  as  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  the  nature  of  my 
preoccupations,  and  the  horror  I  had  of  my  visitor,  would 
suffer  me  to  muster. 

"1  beg  your  pardon.  Dr.  Lanyon,"  he  replied  civilly 
enough.  "What  you  say  is  very  well  founded;  and 
my  impatience  has  shown  its  heels  to  my  politeness.  I 
come  here  at  the  instance  of  your  colleague.  Dr.  Henry 
Jekyll,  on  a  piece  of  business  of  some  moment;  and 

546 


DR.  LANYON'S   NARRATIVE 

I  understood  .  .  ."  He  paused  and  put  his  hand 
to  his  throat,  and  I  could  see,  in  spite  of  his  collected 
manner,  that  he  was  wrestling  against  the  approaches 
of  the  hysteria — "  1  understood,  a  drawer    .     .     ." 

But  here  I  took  pity  on  my  visitor's  suspense,  and 
some  perhaps  on  my  own  growing  curiosity. 

** There  it  is,  sir,"  said  1,  pointing  to  the  drawer, 
where  it  lay  on  the  floor  behind  a  table  and  still  covered 
with  the  sheet. 

He  sprang  to  it,  and  then  paused,  and  laid  his  hand 
upon  his  heart:  1  could  hear  his  teeth  grate  with  the 
convulsive  action  of  his  jaws;  and  his  face  was  so 
ghastly  to  see  that  1  grew  alarmed  both  for  his  life  and 
reason. 

"Compose  yourself,"  said  1. 

He  turned  a  dreadful  smile  to  me,  and  as  if  with  the 
decision  of  despair,  plucked  away  the  sheet.  At  sight  of 
the  contents,  he  uttered  one  loud  sob  of  such  immense 
relief  that  I  sat  petrified.  And  the  next  moment,  in  a 
voice  that  was  already  fairly  well  under  control,  "Have 
you  a  graduated  glass  ?  "  he  asked. 

I  rose  from  my  place  with  something  of  an  effort  and 
gave  him  what  he  asked. 

He  thanked  me  with  a  smiling  nod,  measured  out  a 
few  minims  of  the  red  tincture  and  added  one  of  the 
powders.  The  mixture,  which  was  at  first  of  a  reddish 
hue,  began,  in  proportion  as  the  crystals  melted,  to 
brighten  in  colour,  to  effervesce  audibly,  and  to  throw 
off  small  fumes  of  vapour.  Suddenly  and  at  the  same 
moment,  the  ebullition  ceased  and  the  compound 
changed  to  a  dark  purple,  which  faded  again  more 
slowly  to  a  watery  green.    My  visitor,  who  had  watched 

>47 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

these  metamorphoses  with  a  keen  eye,  smiled,  set  down 
the  glass  upon  the  table,  and  then  turned  and  looked 
upon  me  with  an  air  of  scrutiny. 

'*  And  now,"  said  he,  "to  settle  what  remains.  Will 
you  be  wise  ?  will  you  be  guided  ?  will  you  suffer  me 
to  take  this  glass  in  my  hand  and  to  go  forth  from  your 
house  without  further  parley  ?  or  has  the  greed  of 
curiosity  too  much  command  of  you  ?  Think  before 
you  answer,  for  it  shall  be  done  as  you  decide.  As  you 
decide,  you  shall  be  left  as  you  were  before,  and  neither 
richer  nor  wiser,  unless  the  sense  of  service  rendered  to 
a  man  in  mortal  distress  may  be  counted  as  a  kind  of 
riches  of  the  soul.  Or,  if  you  shall  so  prefer  to  choose, 
a  new  province  of  knowledge  and  new  avenues  to  fame 
and  power  shall  be  laid  open  to  you,  here,  in  this  room, 
upon  the  instant ;  and  your  sight  shall  be  blasted  by  a 
prodigy  to  stagger  the  unbelief  of  Satan." 

"Sir,"  said  I,  affecting  a  coolness  that  I  was  far  from 
truly  possessing,  "you  speak  enigmas,  and  you  will 
perhaps  not  wonder  that  I  hear  you  with  no  very  strong 
impression  of  belief.  But  I  have  gone  too  far  in  the 
way  of  inexplicable  services  to  pause  before  I  see  the 
end." 

"It  is  well,"  replied  my  visitor.  "Lanyon,  you  re- 
member your  vows:  what  follows  is  under  the  seal  of 
our  profession.  And  now,  you  who  have  so  long  been 
bound  to  the  most  narrow  and  material  views,  you  who 
have  denied  the  virtue  of  transcendental  medicine,  you 
who  have  derided  your  superiors  —  behold!  " 

He  put  the  glass  to  his  lips  and  drank  at  one  gulp. 
A  cry  followed;  he  reeled,  staggered,  clutched  at  the 
table  and  held  on,  staring  with  injected  eyes,  gasping 

348 


DR.  LANYON'S   NARRATIVE 

with  open  mouth;  and  as  I  looked  there  came,  I 
thought,  a  change  —  he  seemed  to  swell  —  his  face  be- 
came suddenly  black  and  the  features  seemed  to  melt 
and  alter  —  and  the  next  moment,  I  had  sprung  to  my 
feet  and  leaped  back  against  the  wall,  my  arm  raised  to 
shield  me  from  that  prodigy,  my  mind  submerged  in 
terror. 

**0  God!"  I  screamed,  and  "O  God!"  again  and 
again ;  for  there  before  my  eyes  —  pale  and  shaken,  and 
half  fainting,  and  groping  before  him  with  his  hands, 
like  a  man  restored  from  death  —  there  stood  Henry 
Jekyll! 

What  he  told  me  in  the  next  hour,  I  cannot  bring  my 
mind  to  set  on  paper.  1  saw  what  I  saw,  I  heard  what 
J  heard,  and  my  soul  sickened  at  it;  and  yet  now  when 
that  sight  has  faded  from  my  eyes,  1  ask  myself  if  1  be- 
lieve it,  and  I  cannot  answer.  My  life  is  shaken  to  its 
roots;  sleep  has  left  me;  the  deadliest  terror  sits  by  me 
at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night ;  I  feel  that  my  days 
are  numbered,  and  that  I  must  die;  and  yet  I  shall  die 
incredulous.  As  for  the  moral  turpitude  that  man  un- 
veiled to  me,  even  with  tears  of  penitence,  I  cannot, 
€ven  in  memory,  dwell  on  it  without  a  start  of  horror. 
I  will  say  but  one  thing,  Utterson,  and  that  (if  you  can 
bring  your  mind  to  credit  it)  will  be  more  than  enough. 
The  creature  who  crept  into  my  house  that  night  was, 
on  Jekyll's  own  confession,  known  by  the  name  of  Hyde 
and  hunted  for  in  every  corner  of  the  land  as  the  mur- 
derer of  Carew. 

Hastie  Lanyon. 


349 


HENRY  JEKYLL  S  FULL  STATEMENT  OF  THE  CASE 

I  WAS  born  in  the  year  i8 —  to  a  large  fortune,  en- 
dowed besides  with  excellent  parts,  inclined  by  nature 
to  industry,  fond  of  the  respect  of  the  wise  and  good 
among  my  fellow-men,  and  thus,  as  might  have  been 
supposed,  with  every  guarantee  of  an  honourable  and 
distinguished  future.  And  indeed  the  worst  of  my 
faults  was  a  certain  impatient  gaiety  of  disposition, 
such  as  has  made  the  happiness  of  many,  but  such  as  I 
found  it  hard  to  reconcile  with  my  imperious  desire  to 
carry  my  head  high,  and  wear  a  more  than  commonly 
grave  countenance  before  the  public.  Hence  it  came 
about  that  I  concealed  my  pleasures ;  and  that  when  I 
reached  years  of  reflection,  and  began  to  look  round  me 
and  take  stock  of  my  progress  and  position  in  the  world, 
I  stood  already  committed  to  a  profound  duplicity  of 
life.  Many  a  man  would  have  even  blazoned  such  irreg- 
ularities as  I  was  guilty  of;  but  from  the  high  views 
that  I  had  set  before  me,  1  regarded  and  hid  them  with 
an  almost  morbid  sense  of  shame.  It  was  thus  rather 
the  exacting  nature  of  my  aspirations  than  any  particu- 
lar degradation  in  my  faults,  that  made  me  what  I  was, 
and,  with  even  a  deeper  trench  than  in  the  majority  of 
men,  severed  in  me  those  provinces  of  good  and  ill 

350 


HENRY  JEKYLL'S   FULL  STATEMENT   OF  THE  CASE 

which  divide  and  compound  man's  dual  nature.  In  this 
case,  I  was  driven  to  reflect  deeply  and  inveterately  on 
that  hard  law  of  life,  which  lies  at  the  root  of  religion 
and  is  one  of  the  most  plentiful  springs  of  distress. 
Though  so  profound  a  double-dealer,  I  was  in  no  sense 
a  hypocrite ;  both  sides  of  me  were  in  dead  earnest ;  I 
was  no  more  myself  when  1  laid  aside  restraint  and 
plunged  in  shame,  than  when  1  laboured,  in  the  eye  of 
day,  at  the  furtherance  of  knowledge  or  the  relief  of  sor- 
row and  suffering.  And  it  chanced  that  the  direction 
of  my  scientific  studies,  which  led  wholly  towards  the 
mystic  and  the  transcendental,  reacted  and  shed  a  strong 
light  on  this  consciousness  of  the  perennial  war  among 
my  members.  With  every  day,  and  from  both  sides  of 
my  intelligence,  the  moral  and  the  intellectual,  1  thus 
drew  steadily  nearer  to  that  truth,  by  whose  partial  dis- 
covery I  have  been  doomed  to  such  a  dreadful  ship- 
wreck :  that  man  is  not  truly  one,  but  truly  two.  I  say 
two,  because  the  state  of  my  own  knowledge  does  not 
pass  beyond  that  point.  Others  will  follow,  others  will 
outstrip  me  on  the  same  lines ;  and  I  hazard  the  guess 
that  man  will  be  ultimately  known  for  a  mere  polity  of 
multifarious,  incongruous  and  independent  denizens. 
I  for  my  part,  from  the  nature  of  my  life,  advanced  in- 
fallibly in  one  direction  and  in  one  direction  only.  It  was 
on  the  moral  side,  and  in  my  own  person,  that  I  learned 
to  recognise  the  thorough  and  primitive  duality  of  man ; 
I  saw  that,  of  the  two  natures  that  contended  in  the 
field  of  my  consciousness,  even  if  I  could  rightly  be  said 
to  be  either,  it  was  only  because  I  was  radically  both ; 
and  from  an  early  date,  even  before  the  course  of  my 
scientific  discoveries  had  begun  to  suggest  the  most 

351 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

naked  possibility  of  such  a  miracle,  I  had  learned  to 
dwell  with  pleasure,  as  a  beloved  day-dream,  on  the 
thought  of  the  separation  of  these  elements.  If  each,  I 
told  myself,  could  but  be  housed  in  separate  identities, 
life  would  be  relieved  of  all  that  was  unbearable;  the 
unjust  might  go  his  way,  delivered  from  the  aspirations 
and  remorse  of  his  more  upright  twin;  and  the  just 
could  walk  steadfastly  and  securely  on  his  upward  path, 
doing  the  good  things  in  which  he  found  his  pleasure, 
and  no  longer  exposed  to  disgrace  and  penitence  by  the 
hands  of  this  extraneous  evil.  It  was  the  curse  of  man- 
kind that  these  incongruous  faggots  were  thus  bound 
together  —  that  in  the  agonised  womb  of  consciousness, 
these  polar  twins  should  be  continuously  struggling. 
How,  then,  were  they  dissociated  ? 

I  was  so  far  in  my  reflections  when,  as  I  have  said,  a 
side  light  began  to  shine  upon  the  subject  from  the  lab- 
oratory table.  I  began  to  perceive  more  deeply  than  it 
has  ever  yet  been  stated,  the  trembling  immateriality, 
the  mist-like  transience,  of  this  seemingly  so  solid  body 
in  which  we  walk  attired.  Certain  agents  I  found  to 
have  the  power  to  shake  and  to  pluck  back  that  fleshly 
vestment,  even  as  a  wind  might  toss  the  curtains  of  a 
pavilion.  For  two  good  reasons,  I  will  not  enter  deeply 
into  this  scientific  branch  of  my  confession.  First, 
because  I  have  been  made  to  learn  that  the  doom  and 
burthen  of  our  life  is  bound  forever  on  man's  shoulders, 
and  when  the  attempt  is  made  to  cast  it  off,  it  but 
returns  upon  us  with  more  unfamiliar  and  more  awful 
pressure.  Second,  because,  as  my  narrative  will  make, 
alas!  too  evident,  my  discoveries  were  incomplete. 
Enough,  then,  that  I  not  only  recognised  my  natural 

352 


HENRY  JEKYLL'S  FULL  STATEMENT  OF  THE  CASE 

body  for  the  mere  aura  and  effulgence  of  certain  of  the 
powers  that  made  up  my  spirit,  but  managed  to  com- 
pound a  drug  by  which  these  powers  should  be  de- 
throned from  their  supremacy,  and  a  second  form  and 
countenance  substituted,  none  the  less  natural  to  me 
because  they  were  the  expression,  and  bore  the  stamp, 
of  lower  elements  in  my  soul. 

I  hesitated  long  before  I  put  this  theory  to  the  test 
of  practice.  I  knew  well  that  I  risked  death ;  for  any 
drug  that  so  potently  controlled  and  shook  the  very  for- 
tress of  identity,  might  by  the  least  scruple  of  an  over- 
dose or  at  the  least  inopportunity  in  the  moment  of 
exhibition,  utterly  blot  out  that  immaterial  tabernacle 
which  1  looked  to  it  to  change.  But  the  temptation  of 
a  discovery  so  singular  and  profound,  at  last  overcame 
the  suggestions  of  alarm.  I  had  long  since  prepared  my 
tincture ;  I  purchased  at  once,  from  a  firm  of  wholesale 
chemists,  a  large  quantity  of  a  particular  salt  which  1 
knew,  from  my  experiments,  to  be  the  last  ingredient 
required;  and  late  one  accursed  night,  1  compounded 
the  elements,  watched  them  boil  and  smoke  together  in 
the  glass,  and  when  the  ebullition  had  subsided,  with  a 
strong  glow  of  courage,  drank  off  the  potion. 

The  most  racking  pangs  succeeded :  a  grinding  in  the 
bones,  deadly  nausea,  and  a  horror  of  the  spirit  that 
cannot  be  exceeded  at  the  hour  of  birth  or  death.  Then 
these  agonies  began  swiftly  to  subside,  and  I  came  to 
myself  as  if  out  of  a  great  sickness.  There  was  some- 
thing strange  in  my  sensations,  something  indescribably 
new  and,  from  its  very  novelty,  incredibly  sweet.  I  felt 
younger,  lighter,  happier  in  body;  within  I  was  con- 
scious of  a  heady  recklessness,  a  current  of  disordered 

353 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

sensual  images  running  like  a  mill  race  in  my  fancy,  a 
solution  of  the  bonds  of  obligation,  an  unknown  but  not 
an  innocent  freedom  of  the  soul.  I  knew  myself,  at  the 
first  breath  of  this  new  life,  to  be  more  wicked,  tenfold 
more  wicked,  sold  a  slave  to  my  original  evil ;  and  the 
thought,  in  that  moment,  braced  and  delighted  me  like 
wine.  I  stretched  out  my  hands,  exulting  in  the  fresh- 
ness of  these  sensations ;  and  in  the  act,  I  was  suddenly 
aware  that  I  had  lost  in  stature. 

There  was  no  mirror,  at  that  date,  in  my  room ;  that 
which  stands  beside  me  as  I  write,  was  brought  there 
later  on  and  for  the  very  purpose  of  these  transforma- 
tions. The  night,  however,  was  far  gone  into  the  morn- 
ing —  the  morning,  black  as  it  was,  was  nearly  ripe  for 
the  conception  of  the  day  —  the  inmates  of  my  house 
were  locked  in  the  most  rigorous  hours  of  slumber;  and 
I  determined,  flushed  as  I  was  with  hope  and  triumph, 
to  venture  in  my  new  shape  as  far  as  to  my  bedroom. 
I  crossed  the  yard,  wherein  the  constellations  looked 
down  upon  me,  I  could  have  thought,  with  wonder,  the 
first  creature  of  that  sort  that  their  unsleeping  vigilance 
had  yet  disclosed  to  them ;  I  stole  through  the  corridors, 
a  stranger  in  my  own  house;  and  coming  to  my  room,  I 
saw  for  the  first  time  the  appearance  of  Edward  Hyde. 

I  must  here  speak  by  theory  alone,  saying  not  that 
which  I  know,  but  that  which  1  suppose  to  be  most 
probable.  The  evil  side  of  my  nature,  to  which  1  had 
now  transferred  the  stamping  efficacy,  was  less  robust 
and  less  developed  than  the  good  which  I  had  just  de- 
posed. Again,  in  the  course  of  my  life,  which  had  been, 
after  all,  nine-tenths  a  life  of  effort,  virtue  and  control, 
it  had  been  much  less  exercised  and  much  less  ex- 

354 


HENRY  JEKYLL'S   FULL  STATEMENT   OF  THE  CASE 

hausted.  And  hence,  as  I  think,  it  came  about  that 
Edward  Hyde  was  so  much  smaller,  slighter  and 
younger  than  Henry  Jekyll.  Even  as  good  shone  upon 
the  countenance  of  the  one,  evil  was  written  broadly  and 
plainly  on  the  face  of  the  other.  Evil  besides  (which  1 
must  still  believe  to  be  the  lethal  side  of  man)  had  left 
on  that  body  an  imprint  of  deformity  and  decay.  And 
yet  when  I  looked  upon  that  ugly  idol  in  the  glass,  I 
was  conscious  of  no  repugnance,  rather  of  a  leap  of 
welcome.  This,  too,  was  myself.  It  seemed  natural  and 
human.  In  my  eyes  it  bore  a  livelier  image  of  the  spirit, 
it  seemed  more  express  and  single,  than  the  imperfect 
and  divided  countenance  I  had  been  hitherto  accustomed 
to  call  mine.  And  in  so  far  I  was  doubtless  right.  I 
have  observed  that  when  1  wore  the  semblance  of  Ed- 
ward Hyde,  none  could  come  near  to  me  at  first  with- 
out a  visible  misgiving  of  the  flesh.  This,  as  I  take  it, 
was  because  all  human  beings,  as  we  meet  them,  are 
commingled  out  of  good  and  evil :  and  Edward  Hyde, 
alone  in  the  ranks  of  mankind,  was  pure  evil. 

I  lingered  but  a  moment  at  the  mirror:  the  second 
and  conclusive  experiment  had  yet  to  be  attempted;  it 
yet  remained  to  be  seen  if  I  had  lost  my  identity  beyond 
redemption  and  must  flee  before  daylight  from  a  house 
that  was  no  longer  mine;  and  hurrying  back  to  my 
cabinet,  1  once  more  prepared  and  drank  the  cup,  once 
more  suffered  the  pangs  of  dissolution,  and  came  to  my- 
self once  more  with  the  character,  the  stature  and  the 
face  of  Henry  Jekyll. 

That  night  1  had  come  to  the  fatal  cross  roads.  Had 
I  approached  my  discovery  in  a  more  noble  spirit,  had  1 
risked  the  experiment  while  under  the  empire  of  gener- 

1SS 


DR.  JEKYLL   AND   MR.  HYDE 

ous  or  pious  aspirations,  all  must  have  been  otherwise, 
and  from  these  agonies  of  death  and  birth,  I  had  come 
forth  an  angel  instead  of  a  fiend.  The  drug  had  no  dis- 
criminating action ;  it  was  neither  diabolical  nor  divine ; 
it  but  shook  the  doors  of  the  prison-house  of  my  dispo- 
sition; and  like  the  captives  of  Philippi,  that  which 
stood  within  ran  forth.  At  that  time  my  virtue  slum- 
bered ;  my  evil,  kept  awake  by  ambition,  was  alert  and 
swift  to  seize  the  occasion ;  and  the  thing  that  was  pro- 
jected was  Edward  Hyde.  Hence,  although  1  had  now 
two  characters  as  well  as  two  appearances,  one  was 
wholly  evil,  and  the  other  was  still  the  old  Henry  Jekyll, 
that  incongruous  compound  of  whose  reformation  and 
improvement  I  had  already  learned  to  despair.  The 
movement  was  thus  wholly  towards  the  worse. 

Even  at  that  time,  I  had  not  yet  conquered  my  aver- 
sion to  the  dryness  of  a  life  of  study.  I  would  still  be 
merrily  disposed  at  times;  and  as  my  pleasures  were 
(to  say  the  least)  undignified,  and  I  was  not  only  well 
known  and  highly  considered,  but  growing  towards  the 
elderly  man,  this  incoherency  of  my  life  was  daily  grow- 
ing more  unwelcome.  It  was  on  this  side  that  my  new 
power  tempted  me  until  I  fell  in  slavery.  1  had  but  to 
drink  the  cup,  to  doff  at  once  the  body  of  the  noted 
professor,  and  to  assume,  like  a  thick  cloak,  that  of 
Edward  Hyde.  I  smiled  at  the  notion ;  it  seemed  to  me 
at  the  time  to  be  humorous;  and  1  made  my  prepara- 
tions with  the  most  studious  care.  I  took  and  furnished 
that  house  in  Soho,  to  which  Hyde  was  tracked  by  the 
police;  and  engaged  as  housekeeper  a  creature  whom  I 
well  knew  to  be  silent  and  unscrupulous.  On  the  other 
side,   I  announced  to  my  servants  that  a  Mr.  Hyde 

356 


HENRY  JEKYLL'S   FULL  STATEMENT  OF  THE   CASE 

(whom  I  described)  was  to  have  full  liberty  and  power 
about  my  house  in  the  square;  and  to  parry  mishaps,  I 
even  called  and  made  myself  a  familiar  object,  in  my 
second  character.  I  next  drew  up  that  will  to  which 
you  so  much  objected ;  so  that  if  anything  befell  me  in 
the  person  of  Dr.  Jekyll,  1  could  enter  on  that  of  Edward 
Hyde  without  pecuniary  loss.  And  thus  fortified,  as  1 
supposed,  on  every  side,  I  began  to  profit  by  the  strange 
immunities  of  my  position. 

Men  have  before  hired  bravos  to  transact  their  crimes, 
while  their  own  person  and  reputation  sat  under  shelter. 
I  was  the  first  that  ever  did  so  for  his  pleasures.  1  was 
the  first  that  could  thus  plod  in  the  public  eye  with 
a  load  of  genial  respectability,  and  in  a  moment,  like  a 
schoolboy,  strip  ofiT  these  lendings  and  spring  headlong 
into  the  sea  of  liberty.  But  for  me,  in  my  impenetrable 
mantle,  the  safety  was  complete.  Think  of  it  —  I  did 
not  even  exist!  Let  me  but  escape  into  my  laboratory 
door,  give  me  but  a  second  or  two  to  mix  and  swallow 
the  draught  that  I  had  always  standing  ready ;  and  what- 
ever he  had  done,  Edward  Hyde  would  pass  away  like 
the  stain  of  breath  upon  a  mirror;  and  there  in  his  stead, 
quietly  at  home,  trimming  the  midnight  lamp  in  his 
study,  a  man  who  could  afford  to  laugh  at  suspicion, 
would  be  Henry  Jekyll. 

The  pleasures  which  1  made  haste  to  seek  in  my  dis- 
guise were,  as  I  have  said,  undignified ;  I  would  scarce 
use  a  harder  term.  But  in  the  hands  of  Edward  Hyde, 
they  soon  began  to  turn  towards  the  monstrous.  When 
I  would  come  back  from  these  excursions,  1  was  often 
plunged  into  a  kind  of  wonder  at  my  vicarious  deprav- 
ity.    This  familiar  that  I  called  out  of  my  own  soul, 

357 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

and  sent  forth  alone  to  do  his  good  pleasure,  was  2l 
being  inherently  malign  and  villainous;  his  every  act 
and  thought  centered  on  self;  drinking  pleasure  with 
bestial  avidity  from  any  degree  of  torture  to  another; 
relentless  like  a  man  of  stone.  Henry  Jekyll  stood  at 
times  aghast  before  the  acts  of  Edward  Hyde;  but  the 
situation  was  apart  from  ordinary  laws,  and  insidiously 
relaxed  the  grasp  of  conscience.  It  was  Hyde,  after  all, 
and  Hyde  alone,  that  was  guilty.  Jekyll  was  no  worse ; 
he  woke  again  to  his  good  qualities  seemingly  unim- 
paired ;  he  would  even  make  haste,  where  it  was  pos- 
sible, to  undo  the  evil  done  by  Hyde.  And  thus  his 
conscience  slumbered. 

Into  the  details  of  the  infamy  at  which  I  thus  connived 
(for  even  now  I  can  scarce  grant  that  I  committed  it)  \ 
have  no  design  of  entering;  1  mean  but  to  point  out  the 
warnings  and  the  successive  steps  with  which  my  chas- 
tisement approached.  I  met  with  one  accident  which, 
as  it  brought  on  no  consequence,  I  shall  no  more  than 
mention.  An  act  of  cruelty  to  a  child  aroused  against 
me  the  anger  of  a  passer-by,  whom  I  recognised  the  other 
day  in  the  person  of  your  kinsman ;  the  doctor  and  the 
child's  family  joined  him ;  there  were  moments  when  I 
feared  for  my  life;  and  at  last,  in  order  to  pacify  their 
too  just  resentment,  Edward  Hyde  had  to  bring  them 
to  the  door,  and  pay  them  in  a  cheque  drawn  in  the 
name  of  Henry  Jekyll.  But  this  danger  was  easily 
eliminated  from  the  future,  by  opening  an  account  at 
another  bank  in  the  name  of  Edward  Hyde  himself;  and 
when,  by  sloping  my  own  hand  backward,  I  had  sup- 
plied my  double  with  a  signature,  I  thought  I  sat  beyond 
the  reach  of  fate. 

358 


HENRY  JEKYLL'S   FULL  STATEMENT  OF  THE  CASE 

Some  two  months  before  the  murder  of  Sir  Danvers, 
I  had  been  out  for  one  of  my  adventures,  had  returned 
at  a  late  hour,  and  woke  the  next  day  in  bed  with 
somewhat  odd  sensations.  It  was  in  vain  I  looked 
about  me;  in  vain  I  saw  the  decent  furniture  and  tall 
proportions  of  my  room  in  the  square;  in  vain  that  I 
recognised  the  pattern  of  the  bed  curtains  and  the  de- 
sign of  the  mahogany  frame;  something  still  kept  in- 
sisting that  I  was  not  where  I  was,  that  1  had  not  wak- 
ened where  1  seemed  to  be,  but  in  the  little  room  in 
Soho  where  I  was  accustomed  to  sleep  in  the  body  of 
Edward  Hyde.  1  smiled  to  myself,  and,  in  my  psycho- 
logical way  began  lazily  to  inquire  into  the  elements  of 
this  illusion,  occasionally,  even  as  I  did  so,  dropping 
back  into  a  comfortable  morning  doze.  I  was  still  so 
engaged  when,  in  one  of  my  more  wakeful  moments, 
my  eyes  fell  upon  my  hand.  Now  the  hand  of  Henry 
Jekyll  (as  you  have  often  remarked)  was  professional  in 
shape  and  size:  it  was  large,  firm,  white  and  comely. 
But  the  hand  which  I  now  saw,  clearly  enough,  in  the 
yellow  light  of  a  mid-London  morning,  lying  half  shut 
on  the  bed  clothes,  was  lean,  corded,  knuckly,  of  a 
dusky  pallor  and  thickly  shaded  with  a  swart  growth 
of  hair.     It  was  the  hand  of  Edward  Hyde. 

I  must  have  stared  upon  it  for  near  half  a  minute, 
sunk  as  I  was  in  the  mere  stupidity  of  wonder,  before 
terror  woke  up  in  my  breast  as  sudden  and  startling  as 
the  crash  of  cymbals;  and  bounding  from  my  bed,  I 
rushed  to  the  mirror.  At  the  sight  that  met  my  eyes, 
my  blood  was  changed  into  something  exquisitely  thin 
and  icy.  Yes,  I  had  gone  to  bed  Henry  Jekyll,  I  had 
awakened  Edward  Hyde.     How  was  this  to  be  ex- 

559 


DR.  JEKYLL   AND   MR.  HYDE 

plained  ?  I  asked  myself;  and  then,  with  another  bound 
of  terror — how  was  it  to  be  remedied  ?  It  was  well  on 
in  the  morning;  the  servants  were  up;  all  my  drugs 
were  in  the  cabinet — a  long  journey  down  two  pair  of 
stairs,  through  the  back  passage,  across  the  open  court 
and  through  the  anatomical  theatre,  from  where  I  was 
then  standing  horror-struck.  It  might  indeed  be  pos- 
sible to  cover  my  face ;  but  of  what  use  was  that,  when 
I  was  unable  to  conceal  the  alteration  in  my  stature  ? 
And  then  with  an  overpowering  sweetness  of  relief,  it 
came  back  upon  my  mind  that  the  servants  were  al- 
ready used  to  the  coming  and  going  of  my  second  self. 
I  had  soon  dressed,  as  well  as  I  was  able,  in  clothes  of 
my  own  size:  had  soon  passed  through  the  house, 
where  Bradshaw  stared  and  drew  back  at  seeing  Mr. 
Hyde  at  such  an  hour  and  in  such  a  strange  array ;  and 
ten  minutes  later.  Dr.  Jekyll  had  returned  to  his  own 
shape  and  was  sitting  down,  with  a  darkened  brow,  to 
make  a  feint  of  breakfasting. 

Small  indeed  was  my  appetite.  This  inexplicable  in- 
cident, this  reversal  of  my  previous  experience,  seemed, 
like  the  Babylonian  finger  on  the  wall,  to  be  spelling 
out  the  letters  of  my  judgment;  and  I  began  to  reflect 
more  seriously  than  ever  before  on  the  issues  and  pos- 
sibilities of  my  double  existence.  That  part  of  me 
which  I  had  the  power  of  projecting,  had  lately  been 
much  exercised  and  nourished;  it  had  seemed  to  me 
of  late  as  though  the  body  of  Edward  Hyde  had  grown 
in  stature,  as  though  (when  I  wore  that  form)  1  were 
conscious  of  a  more  generous  tide  of  blood ;  and  1  be- 
gan to  spy  a  danger  that,  if  this  were  much  prolonged, 
the  balance  of  my  nature  might  be  permanently  over- 

360 


HENRY  JEKYLL'S   FULL  STATEMENT  OF  THE  CASE 

thrown,  the  power  of  voluntary  change  be  forfeited, 
and  the  character  of  Edward  Hyde  become  irrevocably 
mine.  The  power  of  the  drug  had  not  been  always 
equally  displayed.  Once,  very  early  in  my  career,  it 
had  totally  failed  me ;  since  then  I  had  been  obliged  on 
more  than  one  occasion  to  double,  and  once,  with  in- 
finite risk  of  death,  to  treble  the  amount;  and  these 
rare  uncertainties  had  cast  hitherto  the  sole  shadow  on 
my  contentment.  Now,  however,  and  in  the  light  of 
that  morning's  accident,  I  was  led  to  remark  that 
whereas,  in  the  beginning,  the  difficulty  had  been  to 
throw  off  the  body  of  Jekyll,  it  had  of  late  gradually 
but  decidedly  transferred  itself  to  the  other  side.  All 
things  therefore  seemed  to  point  to  this:  that  I  was 
slowly  losing  hold  of  my  original  and  better  self,  and 
becoming  slowly  incorporated  with  my  second  and 
worse. 

Between  these  two,  I  now  felt  I  had  to  choose.  My 
two  natures  had  memory  in  common,  but  all  other 
faculties  were  most  unequally  shared  between  them. 
Jekyll  (who  was  composite)  now  with  the  most  sensi- 
tive apprehensions,  now  with  a  greedy  gusto,  projected 
and  shared  in  the  pleasures  and  adventures  of  Hyde; 
but  Hyde  was  indifferent  to  Jekyll,  or  but  remembered 
him  as  the  mountain  bandit  remembers  the  cavern  in 
which  he  conceals  himself  from  pursuit.  Jekyll  had 
more  than  a  father's  interest;  Hyde  had  more  than  a 
son's  indifference.  To  cast  in  my  lot  with  Jekyll,  was 
to  die  to  those  appetites  which  I  had  long  secretly  in- 
dulged and  had  of  late  begun  to  pamper.  To  cast  it  in 
with  Hyde,  was  to  die  to  a  thousand  interests  and  aspi- 
rations, and  to  become,  at  a  blow  and  forever,  despised 

j6i 


DR.  JEKYLL   AND   MR.  HYDE 

and  friendless.  The  bargain  might  appear  unequal;  but 
there  was  still  another  consideration  in  the  scales ;  for 
while  Jekyll  would  suffer  smartingly  in  the  fires  of  absti- 
nence, Hyde  would  be  not  even  conscious  of  all  that  he 
had  lost.  Strange  as  my  circumstances  were,  the  terms 
of  this  debate  are  as  old  and  commonplace  as  man; 
much  the  same  inducements  and  alarms  cast  the  die  for 
any  tempted  and  trembling  sinner;  and  it  fell  out  with 
me,  as  it  falls  with  so  vast  a  majority  of  my  fellows, 
that  I  chose  the  better  part  and  was  found  wanting  in 
the  strength  to  keep  to  it. 

Yes,  I  preferred  the  elderly  and  discontented  doctor, 
surrounded  by  friends  and  cherishing  honest  hopes ;  and 
bade  a  resolute  farewell  to  the  liberty,  the  comparative 
youth,  the  light  step,  leaping  impulses  and  secret  plea- 
sures, that  I  had  enjoyed  in  the  disguise  of  Hyde.  I 
made  this  choice  perhaps  with  some  unconscious  res- 
ervation, for  1  neither  gave  up  the  house  in  Soho,  nor 
destroyed  the  clothes  of  Edward  Hyde,  which  still  lay 
ready  in  my  cabinet.  For  two  months,  however,  I  was 
true  to  my  determination ;  for  two  months  I  led  a  life 
of  such  severity  as  I  had  never  before  attained  to,  and 
enjoyed  the  compensations  of  an  approving  conscience. 
But  time  began  at  last  to  obliterate  the  freshness  of  my 
alarm ;  the  praises  of  conscience  began  to  grow  into  a 
thing  of  course ;  I  began  to  be  tortured  with  throes  and 
longings,  as  of  Hyde  struggling  after  freedom ;  and  at 
last,  in  an  hour  of  moral  weakness,  1  once  again  com- 
pounded and  swallowed  the  transforming  draught. 

1  do  not  suppose  that,  when  a  drunkard  reasons  with 
himself  upon  his  vice,  he  is  once  out  of  five  hundred 
times  affected  by  the  dangers  that  he  runs  through  his 

362 


HENRY  JEKYLL'S   FULL  STATEMENT   OF  THE   CASE 

brutish,  physical  insensibility;  neither  had  I,  long  as  I 
had  considered  my  position,  made  enough  allowance 
for  the  complete  moral  insensibility  and  insensate  readi- 
ness to  evil,  which  were  the  leading  characters  of  Ed- 
ward Hyde.  Yet  it  was  by  these  that  1  was  punished. 
My  devil  had  been  long  caged,  he  came  out  roaring.  1 
was  conscious,  even  when  I  took  the  draught,  of  a  more 
unbridled,  a  more  furious  propensity  to  ill.  It  must 
have  been  this,  1  suppose,  that  stirred  in  my  soul  that 
tempest  of  impatience  with  which  I  listened  to  the  civil- 
ities of  my  unhappy  victim ;  I  declare,  at  least,  before 
God,  no  man  morally  sane  could  have  been  guilty  of 
that  crime  upon  so  pitiful  a  provocation;  and  that  I 
struck  in  no  more  reasonable  spirit  than  that  in  which  a 
sick  child  may  break  a  plaything.  But  1  had  volun- 
tarily stripped  myself  of  all  those  balancing  instincts  by 
which  even  the  worst  of  us  continues  to  walk  with 
some  degree  of  steadiness  among  temptations;  and  in 
my  case,  to  be  tempted,  however  slightly,  was  to  fall. 
Instantly  the  spirit  of  hell  awoke  in  me  and  raged. 
With  a  transport  of  glee,  I  mauled  the  unresisting  body, 
tasting  delight  from  every  blow;  and  it  was  not  till 
weariness  had  begun  to  succeed,  that  I  was  suddenly, 
in  the  top  fit  of  my  delirium,  struck  through  the  heart 
by  a  cold  thrill  of  terror.  A  mist  dispersed ;  I  saw  my 
life  to  be  forfeit ;  and  fled  from  the  scene  of  these  ex- 
cesses, at  once  glorifying  and  trembling,  my  lust  of  evil 
gratified  and  stimulated,  my  love  of  life  screwed  to  the 
topmost  peg.  I  ran  to  the  house  in  Soho,  and  (to  make 
assurance  doubly  sure)  destroyed  my  papers ;  thence  I 
set  out  through  the  lamplit  streets,  in  the  same  divided 
ecstasy  of  mind,  gloating  on  my  crime,  light-headedly 

i6; 


DR.  JEKYLL   AND   MR.  HYDE 

devising  others  in  the  future,  and  yet  still  hastening  and 
still  hearkening  in  my  wake  for  the  steps  of  the  avenger. 
Hyde  had  a  song  upon  his  lips  as  he  compounded  the 
draught,  and  as  he  drank  it,  pledged  the  dead  man. 
The  pangs  of  transformation  had  not  done  tearing  him, 
before  Henry  Jekyll,  with  streaming  tears  of  gratitude 
and  remorse,  had  fallen  upon  his  knees  and  lifted  his 
clasped  hands  to  God.  The  veil  of  self-indulgence  was 
rent  from  head  to  foot.  I  saw  my  life  as  a  whole:  I 
followed  it  up  from  the  days  of  childhood,  when  I  had 
walked  with  my  father's  hand,  and  through  the  self- 
denying  toils  of  my  professional  life,  to  arrive  again  and 
again,  with  the  same  sense  of  unreality,  at  the  damned 
horrors  of  the  evening.  I  could  have  screamed  aloud ;  I 
sought  with  tears  and  prayers  to  smother  down  the 
crowd  of  hideous  images  and  sounds  with  which  my 
memory  swarmed  against  me;  and  still,  between  the 
petitions,  the  ugly  face  of  my  iniquity  stared  into  my 
soul.  As  the  acuteness  of  this  remorse  began  to  die 
away,  it  was  succeeded  by  a  sense  of  joy.  The  problem 
of  my  conduct  was  solved.  Hyde  was  thenceforth  im- 
possible; whether  I  would  or  not,  I  was  now  confined 
to  the  better  part  of  my  existence;  and  O,  how  I  re- 
joiced to  think  it!  with  what  willing  humility,  I  em- 
braced anew  the  restrictions  of  natural  life!  with  what 
sincere  renunciation,  I  locked  the  door  by  which  I  had 
so  often  gone  and  come,  and  ground  the  key  under  my 
heel! 

The  next  day,  came  the  news  that  the  murder  had 
been  overlooked,  that  the  guilt  of  Hyde  was  patent  to 
the  world,  and  that  the  victim  was  a  man  high  in  pub- 
lic estimation.     It  was  not  only  a  crime,  it  had  been  a 

364 


HENRY  JEKYLL'S  FULL  STATEMENT  OF  THE  CASE 

tragic  folly.  I  think  I  was  glad  to  know  it ;  I  think  I 
was  glad  to  have  my  better  impulses  thus  buttressed 
and  guarded  by  the  terrors  of  the  scaffold.  Jekyll  was 
now  my  city  of  refuge ;  let  but  Hyde  peep  out  an  in- 
stant, and  the  hands  of  all  men  would  be  raised  to  take 
and  slay  him. 

I  resolved  in  my  future  conduct  to  redeem  the  past; 
and  1  can  say  with  honesty  that  my  resolve  was  fruitful 
of  some  good.  You  know  yourself  how  earnestly  in  the 
last  months  of  last  year,  I  laboured  to  relieve  suffering ; 
you  know  that  much  was  done  for  others,  and  that  the 
days  passed  quietly,  almost  happily  for  myself.  Nor  can 
I  truly  say  that  I  wearied  of  this  beneficent  and  inno- 
cent life;  I  think  instead  that  I  daily  enjoyed  it  more 
completely;  but  I  was  still  cursed  with  my  duality  of 
purpose ;  and  as  the  first  edge  of  my  penitence  wore  off, 
the  lower  side  of  me,  so  long  indulged,  so  recently 
chained  down,  began  to  growl  for  license.  Not  that  I 
dreamed  of  resuscitating  Hyde ;  the  bare  idea  of  that 
would  startle  me  to  frenzy :  no,  it  was  in  my  own  per- 
son, that  I  was  once  more  tempted  to  trifle  with  my 
conscience;  and  it  was  as  an  ordinary  secret  sinner,  that 
I  at  last  fell  before  the  assaults  of  temptation. 

There  comes  an  end  to  all  things;  the  most  capacious 
measure  is  filled  at  last;  and  this  brief  condescension  to 
my  evil  finally  destroyed  the  balance  of  my  soul.  And 
yet  I  was  not  alarmed;  the  fall  seemed  natural,  like  a 
return  to  the  old  days  before  1  had  made  my  discovery. 
It  was  a  fine,  clear,  January  day,  wet  under  foot  where 
the  frost  had  melted,  but  cloudless  overhead ;  and  the 
Regent's  Park  was  full  of  winter  chirrupings  and  sweet 
with  spring  odours.     1  sat  in  the  sun  on  a  bench ;  the 

y65 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

animal  within  me  licking  the  chops  of  memory;  the 
spiritual  side  a  little  drowsed,  promising  subsequent 
penitence,  but  not  yet  moved  to  begin.  After  all,  I  re- 
flected, I  was  like  my  neighbours;  and  then  I  smiled, 
comparing  myself  with  other  men,  comparing  my  active 
goodwill  with  the  lazy  cruelty  of  their  neglect.  And  at 
the  very  moment  of  that  vain-glorious  thought,  a  qualm 
came  over  me,  a  horrid  nausea  and  the  most  deadly 
shuddering.  These  passed  away,  and  left  me  faint; 
and  then  as  in  its  turn  the  faintness  subsided,  I  began 
to  be  aware  of  a  change  in  the  temper  of  my  thoughts,  a 
greater  boldness,  a  contempt  of  danger,  a  solution  of  the 
bonds  of  obligation.  I  looked  down ;  my  clothes  hung 
formlessly  on  my  shrunken  limbs ;  the  hand  that  lay  on 
my  knee  was  corded  and  hairy.  I  was  once  more  Ed- 
ward Hyde.  A  moment  before  I  had  been  safe  of  all 
men's  respect,  wealthy,  beloved  —  the  cloth  laying  for 
me  in  the  dining-room  at  home;  and  now  I  was  the 
common  quarry  of  mankind,  hunted,  houseless,  a  known 
murderer,  thrall  to  the  gallows. 

My  reason  wavered,  but  it  did  not  fail  me  utterly.  I 
have  more  than  once  observed  that,  in  my  second  char- 
acter, my  faculties  seemed  sharpened  to  a  point  and  my 
spirits  more  tensely  elastic;  thus  it  came  about  that, 
where  Jekyll  perhaps  might  have  succumbed,  Hyde  rose 
to  the  importance  of  the  moment.  My  drugs  were  in 
one  of  the  presses  of  my  cabinet;  how  was  1  to  reach 
them  ?  That  was  the  problem  that  (crushing  my  tem- 
ples in  my  hands)  I  set  myself  to  solve.  The  laboratory 
door  1  had  closed.  If  1  sought  to  enter  by  the  house, 
my  own  servants  would  consign  me  to  the  gallows.  I 
saw  I  must  employ  another  hand,  and  thought  of  Lan- 

366 


HENRY  JEKYLL'S  FULL  STATEMENT  OF  THE  CASE 

yon.  How  was  he  to  be  reached  ?  how  persuaded  ? 
Supposing  that  I  escaped  capture  in  the  streets,  how  was 
I  to  make  my  way  into  his  presence  ?  and  how  should 
I,  an  unknown  and  displeasing  visitor,  prevail  on  the 
famous  physician  to  rifle  the  study  of  his  colleague,  Dr. 
Jekyll  ?  Then  I  remembered  that  of  my  original  char- 
acter, one  part  remained  to  me :  I  could  write  my  own 
hand;  and  once  I  had  conceived  that  kindling  spark, 
the  way  that  I  must  follow  became  lighted  up  from  end 
to  end. 

Thereupon,  I  arranged  my  clothes  as  best  I  could, 
and  summoning  a  passing  hansom,  drove  to  an  hotel  in 
Portland  Street,  the  name  of  which  I  chanced  to  remem- 
ber. At  my  appearance  (which  was  indeed  comical 
enough,  however  tragic  a  fate  these  garments  covered) 
the  driver  could  not  conceal  his  mirth.  I  gnashed  my 
teeth  upon  him  with  a  gust  of  devilish  fury;  and  the 
smile  withered  from  his  face  —  happily  for  him  —  yet 
more  happily  for  myself,  for  in  another  instant  I  had 
certainly  dragged  him  from  his  perch.  At  the  inn,  as  1 
entered,  I  looked  about  me  with  so  black  a  countenance 
as  made  the  attendants  tremble;  not  a  look  did  they 
exchange  in  my  presence;  but  obsequiously  took  my 
orders,  led  me  to  a  private  room,  and  brought  me 
wherewithal  to  write.  Hyde  in  danger  of  his  life  was 
a  creature  new  to  me;  shaken  with  inordinate  anger, 
strung  to  the  pitch  of  murder,  lusting  to  inflict  pain. 
Yet  the  creature  was  astute;  mastered  his  fury  with  a 
great  effort  of  the  will;  composed  his  two  important 
letters,  one  to  Lanyon  and  one  to  Poole;  and  that  he 
might  receive  actual  evidence  of  their  being  posted,  sent 
them  out  with  directions  that  they  should  be  registered. 

367 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

Thenceforward,  he  sat  all  day  over  the  fire  in  the 
private  room,  gnawing  his  nails;  there  he  dined,  sitting 
alone  with  his  fears,  the  waiter  visibly  quailing  before 
his  eye ;  and  thence,  when  the  night  was  fully  come,  he 
set  forth  in  the  corner  of  a  closed  cab,  and  was  driven 
to  and  fro  about  the  streets  of  the  city.  He,  I  say  —  I 
cannot  say,  I.  That  child  of  Hell  had  nothing  human ; 
nothing  lived  in  him  but  fear  and  hatred.  And  when 
at  last,  thinking  the  driver  had  begun  to  grow  suspi- 
cious, he  discharged  the  cab  and  ventured  on  foot,  at- 
tired in  his  misfitting  clothes,  an  object  marked  out  for 
observation,  into  the  midst  of  the  nocturnal  passengers, 
these  two  base  passions  raged  within  him  like  a  tem- 
pest. He  walked  fast,  hunted  by  his  fears,  chattering 
to  himself,  skulking  through  the  less  frequented  thor- 
oughfares, counting  the  minutes  that  still  divided  him 
from  midnight.  Once  a  woman  spoke  to  him,  offering, 
I  think,  a  box  of  lights.  He  smote  her  in  the  face,  and 
she  fled. 

When  I  came  to  myself  at  Lanyon's,  the  horror  of  my 
old  friend  perhaps  affected  me  somewhat:  I  do  not 
know ;  it  was  at  least  but  a  drop  in  the  sea  to  the  ab- 
horrence with  which  I  looked  back  upon  these  hours. 
A  change  had  come  over  me.  It  was  no  longer  the  fear 
of  the  gallows,  it  was  the  horror  of  being  Hyde  that 
racked  me.  I  received  Lanyon's  condemnation  partly 
in  a  dream ;  it  was  partly  in  a  dream  that  1  came  home 
to  my  own  house  and  got  into  bed.  I  slept  after  the 
prostration  of  the  day,  with  a  stringent  and  profound 
slumber  which  not  even  the  nightmares  that  wrung  me 
could  avail  to  break.  I  awoke  in  the  morning  shaken, 
weakened,  but  refreshed.     I  still  hated  and  feared  the 

368 


HENRY  JEKYLL'S   FULL  STATEMENT  OF  THE  CASE 

thought  of  the  brute  that  slept  within  me,  and  I  had  not 
of  course  forgotten  the  appalling  dangers  of  the  day  be- 
fore; but  I  was  once  more  at  home,  in  my  own  house 
and  close  to  my  drugs;  and  gratitude  for  my  escape 
shone  so  strong  in  my  soul  that  it  almost  rivalled  the 
brightness  of  hope. 

I  was  stepping  leisurely  across  the  court  after  break- 
fast, drinking  the  chill  of  the  air  with  pleasure,  when 
I  was  seized  again  with  those  indescribable  sensations 
that  heralded  the  change ;  and  I  had  but  the  time  to  gain 
the  shelter  of  my  cabinet,  before  1  was  once  again  rag- 
ing and  freezing  with  the  passions  of  Hyde.  It  took 
on  this  occasion  a  double  dose  to  recall  me  to  myself; 
and  alas!  six  hours  after,  as  I  sat  looking  sadly  in  the 
fire,  the  pangs  returned,  and  the  drug  had  to  be  re- 
administered.  In  short,  from  that  day  forth  it  seemed 
only  by  a  great  effort  as  of  gymnastics,  and  only  under 
the  immediate  stimulation  of  the  drug,  that  1  was  able 
to  wear  the  countenance  of  Jekyll.  At  all  hours  of  the 
day  and  night,  1  would  be  taken  with  the  premonitory 
shudder;  above  all,  if  1  slept,  or  even  dozed  for  a  mo- 
ment in  my  chair,  it  was  always  as  Hyde  that  I  awak- 
ened. Under  the  strain  of  this  continually  impending 
doom  and  by  the  sleeplessness  to  which  1  now  con- 
demned myself,  ay,  even  beyond  what  I  had  thought 
possible  to  man,  I  became,  in  my  own  person,  a  creature 
eaten  up  and  emptied  by  fever,  languidly  weak  both  in 
body  and  mind,  and  solely  occupied  by  one  thought: 
the  horror  of  my  other  self.  But  when  I  slept,  or  when 
the  virtue  of  the  medicine  wore  off,  I  would  leap  almost 
without  transition  (for  the  pangs  of  transformation  grew 
daily  less  marked)  into  the  possession  of  a  fancy  brim- 

369 


DR.  JEKYLL   AND   MR.   HYDE 

ming  with  images  of  terror,  a  soul  boiling  with  cause- 
less hatreds,  and  a  body  that  seemed  not  strong  enough 
to  contain  the  raging  energies  of  life.  The  powers  of 
Hyde  seemed  to  have  grown  with  the  sickliness  of  Jekyll. 
And  certainly  the  hate  that  now  divided  them  was  equal 
on  each  side.  With  Jekyll,  it  was  a  thing  of  vital  in- 
stinct. He  had  now  seen  the  full  deformity  of  that 
creature  that  shared  with  him  some  of  the  phenomena 
of  consciousness,  and  was  co-heir  with  him  to  death : 
and  beyond  these  links  of  community,  which  in  them- 
selves made  the  most  poignant  part  of  his  distress,  he 
thought  of  Hyde,  for  all  his  energy  of  life,  as  of  some- 
thing not  only  hellish  but  inorganic.  This  was  the 
shocking  thing;  that  the  slime  of  the  pit  seemed  to 
utter  cries  and  voices ;  that  the  amorphous  dust  gesticu- 
lated and  sinned ;  that  what  was  dead,  and  had  no  shape, 
should  usurp  the  offices  of  life.  And  this  again,  that 
that  insurgent  horror  was  knit  to  him  closer  than  a  wife, 
closer  than  an  eye;  lay  caged  in  his  flesh,  where  he 
heard  it  mutter  and  felt  it  struggle  to  be  born ;  and  at 
every  hour  of  weakness,  and  in  the  confidence  of  slum- 
ber, prevailed  against  him,  and  deposed  him  out  of  life. 
The  hatred  of  Hyde  for  Jekyll,  was  of  a  different  order. 
His  terror  of  the  gallows  drove  him  continually  to  com- 
mit temporary  suicide,  and  return  to  his  subordinate 
station  of  a  part  instead  of  a  person ;  but  he  loathed  the 
necessity,  he  loathed  the  despondency  into  which  Jekyll 
was  now  fallen,  and  he  resented  the  dislike  with  which 
he  was  himself  regarded.  Hence  the  apelike  tricks  that 
he  would  play  me,  scrawling  in  my  own  hand  blas- 
phemies on  the  pages  of  my  books,  burning  the  letters 
and  destroying  the  portrait  of  my  father;  and  indeed, 

370 


HENRY  JEKYLL'S   FULL  STATEMENT  OF  THE   CASE 

had  it  not  been  for  his  fear  of  death,  he  would  long  ago 
have  ruined  himself  in  order  to  involve  me  in  the  ruin. 
But  his  love  of  life  is  wonderful;  I  go  further:  1,  who 
sicken  and  freeze  at  the  mere  thought  of  him,  when  1 
recall  the  abjection  and  passion  of  this  attachment,  and 
when  I  know  how  he  fears  my  power  to  cut  him  off  by 
suicide,  1  find  it  in  my  heart  to  pity  him. 

It  is  useless,  and  the  time  awfully  fails  me,  to  prolong 
this  description ;  no  one  has  ever  suffered  such  torments, 
let  that  suffice;  and  yet  even  to  these,  habit  brought 
—  no,  not  alleviation  —  but  a  certain  callousness  of  soul, 
a  certain  acquiescence  of  despair;  and  my  punishment 
might  have  gone  on  for  years,  but  for  the  last  calamity 
which  has  now  fallen,  and  which  has  finally  severed 
me  from  my  own  face  and  nature.  My  provision  of  the 
salt,  which  had  never  been  renewed  since  the  date  of 
the  first  experiment,  began  to  run  low.  1  sent  out  for 
a  fresh  supply,  and  mixed  the  draught;  the  ebullition 
followed,  and  the  first  change  of  colour,  not  the  second; 
1  drank  it  and  it  was  without  efficiency.  You  will 
learn  from  Poole  how  I  have  had  London  ransacked ;  it 
was  in  vain;  and  I  am  now  persuaded  that  my  first 
supply  was  impure,  and  that  it  was  that  unknown  im- 
purity which  lent  efficacy  to  the  draught. 

About  a  week  has  passed,  and  1  am  now  finishing 
this  statement  under  the  influence  of  the  last  of  the  old 
powders.  This,  then,  is  the  last  time,  short  of  a  mira- 
cle, that  Henry  Jekyll  can  think  his  own  thoughts  or  see 
his  own  face  (now  how  sadly  altered!)  in  the  glass. 
Nor  must  1  delay  too  long  to  bring  my  writing  to  an 
end ;  for  if  my  narrative  has  hitherto  escaped  destruc- 
tion, it  has  been  by  a  combination  of  great  prudence 

371 


DR.  JEKYLL  AND   MR.  HYDE 

and  great  good  luck.  Should  the  throes  of  change  take 
me  in  the  act  of  writing  it,  Hyde  will  tear  it  in  pieces ; 
but  if  some  time  shall  have  elapsed  after  I  have  laid  it 
by,  his  wonderful  selfishness  and  circumscription  to  the 
moment  will  probably  save  it  once  again  from  the  action 
of  his  apelike  spite.  And  indeed  the  doom  that  is  closing 
on  us  both,  has  already  changed  and  crushed  him.  Half 
an  hour  from  now,  when  I  shall  again  and  forever  rein- 
due  that  hated  personality,  I  know  how  I  shall  sit  shud- 
dering and  weeping  in  my  chair,  or  continue,  with  the 
most  strained  and  fearstruck  ecstasy  of  listening,  to  pace 
up  and  down  this  room  (my  last  earthly  refuge)  and 
give  ear  to  every  sound  of  menace.  Will  Hyde  die 
upon  the  scaffold  ?  or  will  he  find  courage  to  release 
himself  at  the  last  moment  ?  God  knows ;  I  am  care- 
less ;  this  is  my  true  hour  of  death,  and  what  is  to  follow 
concerns  another  than  myself.  Here  then,  as  I  lay  down 
the  pen  and  proceed  to  seal  up  my  confession,  I  bring 
the  life  of  that  unhappy  Henry  Jekyll  to  an  end. 


57a 


